


Magic: The Universal Force

by FalconLux



Series: W.I.P. Collection [18]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Almost Entirely HP, Alternate HBP, Dark isn't Evil, Gray Harry, Light isn't Good, M/M, No DH, No Slash Until Harry Turns 17, No character bashing, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Very Mild Star Wars Fusion, Work In Progress, rating may increase
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconLux/pseuds/FalconLux
Summary: Feeling more helpless and alone than he has in years after watching Sirius die, Harry decides that he's going to take some control of his own fate. So even though he knows Sirius wouldn't have wanted it, he decides to study the magic Voldemort and his followers will be using to try to kill him. In the course of this study, he will discover something so much greater.This will take place entirely in HP universe. No knowledge of Star Wars is necessary to understand it.This is a Work In Progress. It is not finished. It may never be finished. Updates will be sporadic. Read At Your Own Risk.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Bill Weasley
Series: W.I.P. Collection [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/398941
Comments: 171
Kudos: 451





	1. Chapter 1

Harry’s nose wrinkled as he stepped into Grimmauld Place, raking a hand through his hair to shake off raindrops. Merlin, why did this place always have to smell of dust and mildew?

Harry hesitated a moment, looking around the darkened entry hall, then took a bracing breath and called, “Kreacher.”

The hateful beast appeared with a quiet pop, displacing a small cloud of dust from the rug, “What can Kreacher be doing for unworthy halfblood master?” it muttered with an ugly glare, at least confirming that Sirius had left the elf to Harry when he died.

The look Harry sent back was at least as hateful. Harry would never forget that he was complicit in Sirius’ death. The little demon had intentionally misled him into going to rescue a godfather that wasn’t even in danger. Kreacher didn’t hold all the blame, but he could have prevented everything. He ground his teeth for a moment before issuing the order he’d come here to make, “I want you to gather every single book on the Black property. Separate the cursed books from the ones safe to read. Remove any curses you are capable of removing without hurting yourself. Any books that remain cursed, you are to put away in the attic for now. I want you to find or make an expanded bag or trunk that is not cursed and put all of the remaining books without curses into this expanded bag or trunk and bring it to me. Do you understand?” he’d spent all afternoon working out the wording so that Kreacher would have to do it right.

The elf bared yellow teeth at Harry, but answered, “Kreacher understands, filthy halfblood master.”

“Just ‘master’ will do,” Harry said with an unhappy smile and the elf vanished with a pop. Harry took a ragged breath and ran his hand through his damp hair again as his eyes trailed up the staircase. He hesitated a moment before starting up the stairs. The second reason he’d decided to come was maybe not as important, but it felt necessary.

Harry’s hand shook as he gripped the knob of the door bearing his godfather’s name. He stared at it a moment before pressing his face against the wood and just breathing. After a minute to gather his courage, he forced himself to enter the room.

His heart constricted at finding it exactly as he remembered. A bit of a mess, clothing strewn vaguely in the direction of the hamper rather than in it. The bed rumpled and unmade. Leather jacket draped over a chair back.

Harry closed the door with a soft click and slouched his way across the room to sink onto the side of the bed. “Hi, Sirius,” he breathed and ignored the tears that burned their way down his cheeks at just addressing his godfather. “I miss you.” He breathed in slowly and let it out as a shaky sigh. Harry was pretty sure no one was having an actual funeral for Sirius — and he wouldn’t be invited even if they did — so this was as close as he was going to get for some kind of closure.

“I’m really confused,” he admitted quietly. “I liked being able to go to you for advice, but I don’t have anyone anymore. It’s not new. I’ve gone most of my life just figuring things out myself, but it was nice having someone for a little while.”

He sniffled and slid fully onto the bed, resting his back against the headboard and wrapping his arms around his raised knees. “I feel like every adult I’ve ever known has let me down. Except…” his breath hitched and he choked on a sob before admitting. “No. You did, too. When you went after Peter instead of looking after me. I forgive you for that because I know you weren’t thinking clearly and I know you didn’t mean to do me any harm. You made a mistake and you never apologized, but maybe if you hadn’t been in Azkaban you would have. It doesn’t matter. I forgive you.

“I don’t know if I can forgive anyone else though. Professor Lupin… Remus… He wasn’t in prison or anything, but he still ignored me for most of my life. I don’t know if I can forgive that. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have always been kind to me, but Mrs. Weasley was so mean to you last summer. Like it was your fault that you hadn’t been there for me when she’d had every chance to and wasn’t. When Remus was the same. Only you did she judge because she didn’t like you. And she… I could forgive her for the ten years before I met Ron. She didn’t actually know me then. But more recently… She knew how I hate it at the Dursleys. Fred and George told her about the bars and that they weren’t feeding me and she didn’t even want to listen. Maybe she didn’t want to know or maybe she just didn’t want to think about it, but she didn’t try to help. Didn’t even offer, like you did.

“Mr. Weasley…” Harry sighed. “He’s always been real nice and all, but he seems to just ignore most things if he can manage to stay out of it. He never tried to help me either. Not even when he met the Dursleys before the Quidditch World Cup.

“Then this year, after you…” His throat tightened and he forced himself to say it. He needed to move past this, “When you _died_ , a bunch of the Order came and threatened the Dursleys to treat me better or else.” He sniffled and wiped his face briskly on his sleeve before continuing. “Why is it only now, when I’m almost sixteen, that anyone thinks to try to help? I’ve been struggling through on my own the last fifteen years and not once has anyone just pulled the Dursleys aside and said, _‘Hey, make sure he’s getting plenty of food and not too many chores and a chance to go outdoors and keep your son from hitting him, and maybe don’t go at him with a freaking frying pan!’_ ” He was breathing heavy and half a sob got out before he tightened his jaw and let his anger overcome his hurt.

“Not once did anyone visit and let me know that there were people in the world that cared about me. How can they sit there now and act like my best interests are all they’ve ever cared about? How can they expect me to trust them to protect me?”

With a violent huff, he pushed himself up off the bed and stalked quickly to the window, then back to the door before returning to the window, trying to burn through some of the anger churning in his gut. “And I think the first adults to let me down were my parents,” he said, almost wincing at his own words, but forcing them out nevertheless. He had a hard time even thinking these things, but he had to get them out or he was going to burst or just rot from the inside out. “They gave their lives for me, I know, but first, they _put my life in danger_!” he snapped at his own squeamishness to say it here in an empty room. “They chose to fight in a war and for _what_? They’re fighting to preserve a government that is horrifically corrupt. That just throws people in prison to make themselves _look_ competent, like with Hagrid my second year! A government where speaking out too blatantly against their narrative can get even _children_ publicly vilified! Last year they tried to _arrest_ Dumbledore for spreading an unpopular truth and they _tortured_ me with that fucking blood quill! _This_ is the government we’re trying to preserve?”

Harry ran his hands roughly through his hair and paced the room more slowly lest he get dizzy. “And Dumbledore, he’s half the problem!” he continued to rant. “He’s got several aurors in his pocket and he’s leading a _vigilante group_! I mean, yeah the Ministry isn’t going to do anything meaningful with how corrupt they are, but doesn’t Dumbledore realize that corrupting ministry officials to his side is still corrupting ministry officials? Shouldn’t we be working toward a better government? But since the last war was won, Dumbledore hasn’t improved _anything_! He had the chance to be minister. He had enough influence he probably could have gotten one of his supporters into office if he didn’t want it himself. Instead he just sat at the school and let the government turn into — or maybe _remain_ — the pathetic thing it is now.

“And getting rid of all the Dark wizards wouldn’t fix everything because not all bad people are Dark! Just look at Lockhart, obliviating people and stealing their greatest achievements for himself! I don’t even want to imagine what else he did with that particular talent and no moral standing. It’s kind of horrifying to think of the times I was alone with him. Merlin, I _hope_ that answering fan mail was all that went on in his detentions.” He shuddered violently at that thought.

“And then there’s the way they treat Dark creatures,” Harry added, taking a deep breath to try to calm himself. He leaned against the window ledge and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. The paint was cracked and filthy, the plaster sagging in one corner where something must have been leaking on the floor above. “Remus is a really nice guy and he can’t hold a job or keep a house or anything just because he’s a werewolf. How many other creatures are like that?

“And didn’t Moody say that aurors were approved to use the Unforgivables in the last war? How can a spell be so unspeakably evil as to be considered an unforgivable crime to be used at all and yet the police force is approved to use them when the situation gets dire enough? How does no one find that contradictory? Seriously, the magic cannot be evil in and of itself if the supposed ‘good guys’ were given free use of them.”

With a heavy sigh, Harry lowered his gaze and found himself looking directly at a calendar from 1975 with a picture of a scantily clad woman draped over a motorcycle. Merlin, he’d bet Walburga hated that. Harry was actually a little surprised she hadn’t destroyed everything in Sirius’ room when he moved out.

“Nothing makes sense anymore,” he concluded to Sirius who had more than likely moved on to the “next great adventure” and wasn’t hearing any of this anyway. It made Harry feel a little better to feel like he was talking to his godfather, even if he wasn’t in a position to get any response. “Dumbledore showed me the prophecy. Apparently I’m destined to kill Voldemort or die trying.” He swallowed hard and his voice came out strangled as he admitted, “I don’t want to die. I…” he gasped and breathed through the renewed urge to sob. “I don’t know how I can beat him, but I don’t want to die. And no one’s offering to teach me anything useful. So I’ve decided that I’m going to learn on my own. Dark magic seems to be the most powerful for duels and such. Why else would aurors use it when the going gets rough? So I’m going to learn it. And… if nothing else, it won’t hurt to have a better idea of what’s coming at me. Even if I don’t like using it.

“This could keep me alive and no one’s done anything yet that seems like it might actually keep me alive. No one teaches me. No one even keeps me informed of what the guy trying to kill me has been doing. Dumbledore suspected last year that Voldemort might try to lure me to the ministry using a vision. He knew basically exactly what was going to happen, and instead of telling me that so that I could be better prepared, he kept me in the dark and I did exactly what Voldemort wanted and you _died_.”

He took a few shaking breaths before steeling his resolve again. “I know that Dumbledore and the Weasleys and Remus and McGonagall would all try to stop me if they knew, so I’m not going to let them find out. They all care more about me having a childhood than an adulthood and I’m fucking done letting them dictate my life. They’ve all done a piss poor job of it the last fifteen years.

“So maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I’ll get addicted to Dark Magic and end up as barmy as Bellatrix, but it’s a chance I have to take. I’d rather end up dead because of my own mistakes than because of the mistakes of the people trying and failing to protect me. I’d rather die trying to better my life than sitting around waiting for the next attempt on my life.”

Harry took a breath and actually felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Weak with relief at having gotten so much off his chest, Harry stepped out of the room. He stopped in the doorway and gave another look around. “Goodbye, Sirius,” he whispered to the room before closing the door.

He hardened himself against the grief. He wouldn’t ever stop missing Sirius, but he needed to focus on the present and the future or he wasn’t going to have one. Dumbledore could have prevented everything last year if he’d only just told Harry things. Even through an intermediary if he didn’t feel he could have a conversation with Harry directly lest Voldemort leak out through his scar or something. Someone could have told him what Dumbledore feared would happen.

Harry moved to the drawing room and had only just sat down in the middle of the sofa when Kreacher popped in, depositing a shoulder bag on the coffee table in front of Harry.

“There be the bookses in the bagses nasty halfblood master be requesting,” the elf grumbled.

Thankfully, the elf disappeared before Harry had to deal with any more poisonous grumblings. If the thing started going on about Sirius, Harry might really curse him and he wasn’t sure if the heavy wards on the house would be enough to keep him from getting expelled.

Hoping that Kreacher really had sorted out all the cursed books, Harry slid on his dragonhide gloves before touching the bag. Just to be safe.

He then spent the next few hours sifting through what turned out to be hundreds of books. Thousands, maybe, but it was hard to tell with them all in the expanded bag. Merlin, he hadn’t known there would be so many. He wondered how many had been relegated to the attic.

Organizing the books was more than just a pain. They weren’t labeled by skill level. Most didn’t have any kind of description of their contents. Some didn’t even have titles, or were only titled inside and not on the cover. He ended up having to read through the table of contents — when there was one — or skim through some of the pages to figure out what the books were even about. He started making a list on a blank parchment so that he could try to read through them by category. Most all the books seemed to be about Dark topics except for a few dozen that looked like maybe old school books. He started a category for Dark magical theory until he realized that over half the books seemed to be on that topic and then tried to go back and sort them via the kind of dark magic they covered from basic to specific schools. Necromancy and dueling and spell creation and enchantment and rituals and aura reading and foresight and something called magical ambiance that seemed to involve a lot of meditation.

He didn’t get much into any of the topics, just sorting for now. He was so absorbed by the task that he nearly didn’t notice when the time came for him to leave. He’d made a dent in the books by then, but he wasn’t sure how much of one as he hadn’t gotten them all out of the bag.

After he’d gotten the letter from Dumbledore telling him that he’d be by to pick him up in three days, Harry had decided that he needed to act on the vague plan he’d been turning around all summer. He needed to learn and no one was volunteering to teach him, so he needed to take matters into his own hands.

He’d caught the last train from Surrey into London last night in hopes of avoiding the eyes of his guards by going when they thought he’d be asleep. He needed to catch the first train back this morning if he wanted to be back in his room before the sun came up. He was lucky the Order’s threats had prevented the Dursleys from locking him in so far this summer.

* * *

*** ~ * ~ ***

* * *

Dumbledore showed up exactly when he’d said he would, Harry was not surprised to see. He did find it a little hard to believe he would not have to return that summer. Dumbledore normally seemed so intent on making him stay at least a month. It made Harry wonder a bit if the old man just needed him for something and was using this as a subtle bribe.

He didn’t have a very fond opinion of the old man at the moment. Not after what had happened last year.

The Dursleys, naturally, pitched a fit at Dumbledore’s arrival. Harry hadn’t warned them beforehand mostly because he knew they’d be angry about it and no point dealing with that for days in advance if he didn’t have to. Ideally, he wouldn’t be coming back this summer and he wouldn’t be back next summer either if he could possibly manage it.

Harry watched with dread as Dumbledore settled down in the Dursleys’ living room.

“Shall I fetch my things, then?” he asked hopefully.

“In a moment. In a moment,” Dumbledore nodded. “There are a few things we need to discuss first, and I would prefer not to do so out in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle’s hospitality only a little longer.”

“You will, will you?” Vernon grumped.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, levitating the sofa to lift forward and sweep all three of them from their feet before returning to it’s original position.

Honestly, it was the Dursleys, so they deserved far more than a little magical bullying in their own house, but Harry couldn’t help but think that for all Dumbledore was mildly chiding them on poor manners, he was certainly the picture of rudeness himself.

“We may as well be comfortable,” Dumbledore concluded. “Please sit down, Harry.”

Harry did so with gritted teeth. He really and truly did not want to talk to Dumbledore about _anything_ in front of the Dursleys. He’d rather have a discussion in front of Snape. At least he’d only been bullying Harry the last five years. At least he hadn’t tormented Harry when he was too young to understand that sometimes it was just impossible to please people.

“I would assume you were going to offer me refreshment,” Dumbledore continued chiding Vernon, “but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness.”

And he twitched his wand again and pulled from somewhere a dusty bottle and five crystal glasses. The bottle then tipped and poured some honey-colored liquid into each glass and the glasses floated over to each of them.

“Madam Rosmerta’s finest oak-matured mead,” said Dumbledore, raising his glass to Harry, who caught hold of his own. The Dursleys, after quick, scared looks at one another, tried to ignore their glasses completely, a difficult feat as they were nudging them gently on the sides of their heads. Harry suspected Dumbledore was enjoying himself, which honestly just pissed Harry off all the more. How dare he come in here and make a production of how easily he could cow the Dursleys despite having not chosen to do so a single time in the past when Harry needed him most. Harry fixed his eyes on the glass in his hand and did not drink. He doubted it was tainted, but he wasn’t feeling quite up to trusting Dumbledore in anything at the moment.

“Well, Harry,” said Dumbledore, turning toward him, “a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius’s will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned.”

Harry’s hands clenched hard, one in his lap, the other around the glass, which he quickly moved to place on the side table lest he spill it. Merlin, he did not want to talk about Sirius’ death with Dumbledore when the man held probably as much blame as Voldemort or Bellatrix in Harry’s eyes. He could have prevented it if he’d just opened his fucking mouth and been honest with Harry. But he hadn’t. And Harry doubted he ever would despite the promise he’d made at the end of the year to tell Harry everything he knew about Voldemort.

“If you found it a week ago, why am I only finding out now?” Harry couldn’t help but bite out.

Dumbledore gave one of his sad sighs. “There were many things to consider, Harry, and the Order has been very busy of late. This was the earliest I could see you.”

When Harry did not respond but to continue staring at his hands clenched on his knees, Dumbledore spoke again, “In the main, the will is straightforward. You will add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts and you will inherit all of Sirius’ personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy—”

“His godfather’s dead?” Vernon spoke up suddenly, his voice overly loud. Pleased, the bastard. “He’s dead?” he sought to clarify, batting at the glass still nudging his head. “His godfather?”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore neutrally. “Our problem,” he continued to Harry, as if there had been no interruption, “is that Sirius also left you number twelve Grimmauld Place.”

“He’s been left a house?” Vernon said greedily, his small eyes narrowing but nobody answered him.

“You’ll not see a cent of my inheritance,” Harry warned as anger burned hot in his chest. How dare that piece of filth even _suggest_ such a thing. “You clothed me in Dudley’s cast-offs, you fed me your scraps and stored me in the cupboard, you worked me like a slave, and you treated me as your own personal whipping boy. If you think that you’ve earned a single penny of my inheritance, you are very gravely mistaken,” he all but spat, voice deepened by rage.

A moment of silence passed as Vernon imitated a fish, unable to articulate any form of defense. Undoubtedly he would have had something to say had Dumbledore not been there.

“We have temporarily vacated the building,” Dumbledore went on after a moment of silence, apparently content to ignore Harry’s vitriol. Just went to prove the old man knew everything that went on in this house and chose to let it continue.

“Why?” Harry asked Dumbledore, sucking up his rage at his family and wondering if there was any chance they’d vacated out of respect for the change in ownership.

“Well,” said Dumbledore, ignoring Vernon, who’d begun muttering to himself while he was rapped smartly over the head by the persistent glass of mead, “Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of Black. Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood.”

Harry suspected that he owned it considering he’d been to the house and talked to Kreacher, who’d called him master.

Then Dumbledore summoned that damnable elf, who glared murder at Harry.

“Give him an order,” Dumbledore suggested when the stare down continued. “If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress.”

Harry gave a moment of thought to ordering the elf to kill itself. It would be satisfying while neatly getting the little beast out of everyone’s hair. Dumbledore would likely be horrified, unfortunately. And the elf could still come in handy as a bound servant, as had proved itself when he’d gathered the books for Harry. That was a task he could not have done alone without likely ending up cursed. So instead, he just gave the beast a sickly smile and ordered, “Kreacher, compliment my relatives,” and he tipped his head toward the three. Complimenting muggles had to be painful for Kreacher and the backhanded compliment he came up with was likely to be hilarious for Harry. Win-win.

Kreacher’s lip curled with repugnance when he looked at them, which… fair enough. He took a deep breath, then said almost pleasantly, “Master’s relatives is being very well filled out master. They would roast quite well on Kreacher’s spit. Kreacher suspects the pigs be finding them very tasty.”

The Dursleys had grown impossibly pale and Dudley had started whimpering as the demented elf’s smile grew more genuine as he spoke.

Harry was resisting the urge to laugh and wondering where Kreacher planned to get pigs when Dumbledore interceded.

“Ah, yes. I believe that is proof enough,” he was frowning very disappointedly at both Harry and Kreacher, however. “That does simplify matters. It seems that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Great... Kreacher, return to Grimmauld Place and do your best to actually clean the place to a standard the House of Black could be proud of.”

Kreacher gave him a dirty look actually rather more mild than many previous ones, and popped away.

“Well enough,” Dumbledore decided. “Now there is also the matter of Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him since Sirius died, but Buckbeak is yours now, so if you would prefer to make different arrangements—”

“No,” Harry interrupted tiredly. “No, he can stay with Hagrid.” He didn’t even know what he’d do with a hippogriff. Maybe one day if he had a house with a sizable piece of land he could keep the animal there, but he certainly had nothing better to offer it than Hagrid could. Not at the moment.

“Hagrid will be delighted,” Dumbledore declared. “He was thrilled to see Buckbeak again. Incidentally, we have decided, in the interests of Buckbeak’s safety, to rechristen him Witherwings for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the hippogriff they once sentenced to death. Now, Harry, is your trunk packed?”

“Yes,” Harry said fervently. Merlin he was ready to be gone from here. Discussing this in front of the Dursleys had been extremely uncomfortable. As though they had any right to know anything about his life. He stood without waiting for further instruction and headed directly upstairs. It was the work of mere seconds to toss a few bits and bobs into his packed trunk, gather up Hedwig’s cage, and return downstairs.

Sadly, Dumbledore was yet in the sitting room with the Dursleys. The room was silent other than Dumbledore’s quiet humming. He appeared quite at ease despite the obvious tension radiating from the Dursleys. His own way of projecting himself as above everyone else, of course. Not that it was necessary in this case. Cockroaches were above this lot.

“Well, I’m ready,” Harry announced rather more loudly than necessary.

“Good,” said Dumbledore, “Just one thing then,” and he turned to address the Dursleys. “As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year’s time—”

“No,” Petunia interjected.

“I’m sorry?” Dumbledore inquired politely.

“No, he doesn’t,” she explained primly. “He’s a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn’t turn eighteen until the year after next.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore hummed pleasantly, “but in the wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen.”

“Preposterous,” Vernon muttered, likely just upset Harry would beat Dudley at anything ever, even aging.

“Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents’ murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own son.”

Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.

Yes, because the one who left a child on a doorstep with a letter obviously had the moral high ground here.

“You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you.”

Vernon immediately began to sputter out denials about mistreating their own son, who was incredibly overweight and spoiled to the point of ruin.

Dumbledore merely raised a finger for silence and he got it. “The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house “home”. However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least grudgingly allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen. In other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return once more to this house before his seventeenth birthday which will ensure that the protection continues until that time.”

Dumbledore may have wished they’d treated Harry better but he’d certainly never so much as lifted a finger to make it so. Harry reaffirmed his personal vow to avoid returning to this house even one second more. If nothing else, he could go into hiding until his birthday. He wondered if he could figure out how to lock down Number Twelve to keep everyone out. Kreacher might know, but Harry would have to be very careful with his warding lest the elf ensure Harry was locked out as well.

“Well, Harry. Time for us to be off,” Dumbledore concluded after a long moment of silence. “Until we meet again,” he said to the Dursleys before donning his hat to sweep from the room.

Harry didn’t even look at his relatives as he followed the headmaster. He was absolutely certain none of them had anything pleasant to say to him or him them.

“We do not want to be encumbered by these just now,” Dumbledore announced, eying Harry’s trunk and owl cage. “I shall send them to the Burrow to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak. Just in case.”

That was easily enough done considering the cloak was already tucked away in his jeans pocket, so he just drew it out enough to show it, then tucked it back.

With a wave of Dumbledore’s wand, trunk, cage, and Hedwig were gone.

“And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure,” Dumbledore declared as they left the house.

Harry could not help but roll his eyes, but he was a step behind the headmaster, so he figured it probably wasn’t noticed.

What followed was an incredibly uncomfortable first experience with side-along apparition, then a little game of hide and seek where only Harry got to think there was real danger, meaning he was scared half to death while Dumbledore and Slughorn played their game.

If everything with the Dursleys didn’t already have him in a foul mood, this would have by itself. And then he came quite quickly to realize that he was here like the worm on a hook. Dumbledore wanted Slughorn back to Hogwarts to teach for some reason. Possibly to prevent another Umbridge situation. Instead of explaining things to Harry and making him an accomplice, he brought him along like the innocent minnow on the hook, not realizing that its purpose wasn’t so much a nice swim, but rather to draw in the big fish and be devoured.

Slughorn was a collector of people that he thought would be rich and/or influential later in life. And here was Harry Potter dangling tantalizingly within reach. All he need do was take the job for the year and he’d have so many chances to secure the shiniest of all trophies. Fuck, he hated this. Even if it was necessary. If he’d been brought in on it ahead of time, he’d have felt a bit slimy about it, but at least he’d have felt an active participant in the manipulation. Instead, he felt just as manipulated as Slughorn.

His anger at Dumbledore was very much not receding.

“Well done, Harry,” Dumbledore congratulated as they left Slughorn’s house behind.

Yeah, because standing around showing off his scar was what he was good for.

Dumbledore cast Harry a sly glance when he remained stubbornly silent. “Did you like him?” he probed.

“No,” Harry admitted because it was the middle of the night and it had been one irritant after another all night and he was just about done with patience or politeness at this point.

Dumbledore, of course, just chuckled as though Harry’s honesty was refreshingly amusing. “Horace likes his comfort,” he confided. “He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself. He prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see.” Did thrones typically have backseats or was Dumbledore just being very loose with metaphor mixing?

Harry tried hard not to sigh as Dumbledore went on at length about Slughorn’s hobby of collecting people.

“I tell you this,” Dumbledore continued,” not to turn you against Horace — or as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection. The Boy Who Lived. Or as they call you these days, The Chosen One.”

Harry shuddered at the memory of that fucking prophecy. The reason that he’d decided to start studying the Dark Arts. Indeed, he’d done little else the last two days while waiting for Dumbledore to show up. He’d barely scratched the surface so far. It was a much more complicated subject than he’d have thought possible, having previously only viewed it as “evil” magic. It was not, in fact, as simple as wanting to hurt people while casting certain spells. Without a proper Dark Arts Primer or even someone to tell him which books to read first, it was a slog to even get a proper grasp on the subject, but he wasn’t going to give up.

He meant to survive being the ruddy “chosen one”.

“This will do, Harry,” Dumbledore drew him from his contemplations as he extended an arm in invitation. “If you will grasp my arm.”

With a bracing breath, Harry went through side-along apparition for the second time. He did not, in fact, find it any more pleasant than the last time, though it was a bit more tolerable when knowing what to expect.

When it was over, Harry found them facing the familiar silhouette of the Burrow. He couldn’t help but feel his spirits rise a bit at the sight. This place contained a lot of happy memories for him. And Mrs. Weasley always worked so hard to feed him up. Despite the Dursleys treating him almost tolerably this summer, they’d still fed him as little as they thought they could get away with. Three meals a day, but all rather small and heavy on undercooked vegetables. The perpetual state of mild starvation was far from pleasant.

“If you don’t mind, Harry,” Dumbledore interrupted Harry’s relief, “I’d like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?”

Dumbledore directed them toward a run-down outhouse where the Weasleys stored their brooms. With apprehension, Harry followed him into the dark, cramped space. Dumbledore lit the tip of his wand to illuminate the area and smiled at Harry.

“I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would be proud of you.”

Harry felt the swell of rage build inside him again. He clenched his jaw against the need to vent his rage on the headmaster. He knew very well from last spring that it was far from satisfying when Dumbledore refused to be at all moved by it.

“It was cruel,” Dumbledore went on softly, “that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship.”

“Yes, it was.” Harry confirmed, his voice choked and hard. It was very cruel of Dumbledore to do everything in his power to keep them apart the vast majority of the time. _It_ _’s your fault! It’s your fault! It’s your fault!_ Pounded through his head and his throat ached for holding back the need to scream it. He didn’t even know if he really believed that or if it was just grief and anger making him think it. He knew saying it would accomplish nothing, unfortunately. Except perhaps to make him feel foolish when Dumbledore all but patted his head like a toddler throwing a mildly amusing tantrum. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” he managed to grate out because if Dumbledore kept talking about Sirius, Harry knew he really wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Dumbledore just nodded sagely, “Of course, my boy. Of course.” He took a breath, then continued. “Well, on a related subject… I gather that you have been taking the _Prophet_ over the last two weeks?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, controlling his breathing with effort.

“Then you will have seen that there have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted with a growl.

“Remember, Harry,” Dumbledore cautioned, “that there are only two people who know what the prophecy says. Though many have guessed correctly that Voldemort sent his Death eaters to steal a prophecy and that the prophecy concerned you. I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy says?”

“No,” Harry sighed.

“A wise decision on the whole,” Dumbledore complimented, “Although I think that you ought to relax it in favor of your friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them.”

Harry looked at his shoes in response to that. He hadn’t felt all that close to Ron since that mess in fourth year. Yes, they still got along and they were mates, but Ron was more of a convenient friend than his most trusted confidant these days. And maybe that wasn’t fair, especially after the redhead had followed him into the Ministry last spring. There were just very few people Harry had ever trusted in his life and Ron had betrayed that trust when Harry had needed him most. Trusting him again wasn’t something that Harry could just will to happen.

As to Hermione… She was a good friend, but she was so devoted to Dumbledore and Harry was a long way from forgiving him. He didn’t want to hear Hermione tell him about how Dumbledore did his best and deserved Harry’s respect.

“I suspect,” Dumbledore said when Harry remained silent, “that you didn’t want to worry or frighten them. Or perhaps that you didn’t want to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened. You need your friends, Harry. Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away.”

Harry just heaved a heavy sigh. He was doing a lot of things these days that Sirius would not have wanted. He knew how much Sirius loathed the Dark Arts, after all.

“On a different though related subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year,” Dumbledore went on, apparently fully capable of carrying on this conversation with almost no assistance from Harry.

“Private lessons with you?” Harry finally joined the conversation as his surprise overcame his anger. Did Dumbledore mean to actually help him prepare at last? Why wait so long?

“Yes, I think it time I took a greater hand in your education,” Dumbledore confirmed.

“What will you be teaching me?” Harry asked, starting to feel a little hopeful at last.

“Oh, a little of this and a little of that,” Dumbledore said airily and Harry felt his hopes deflate a bit. If the man wasn’t even taking this seriously, Harry didn’t hold much hope for the lessons’ content.

“And you won’t expect me to continue lessons with Snape, right?” Harry sought to confirm, because he wasn’t doing that again no matter what, but he’d ask nicely first and then get belligerent depending on the answer.

 _“Professor_ Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore corrected. “And no, you will not.”

Harry slumped a bit in relief that he wouldn’t have a fight on his hands.

“Yes,” Dumbledore responded to his body language. “Those lessons did not work out as well as I’d hoped.

Harry huffed an almost laugh at the understatement.

Dumbledore seemed to perk up a bit in response, as though dragging a reluctant laugh from Harry was tantamount to forgiveness. “Now, two more things, Harry, before we part.

“Firstly, I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me?”

Harry nodded.

“And lastly, while you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide. These measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Arthur and Molly. All their post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry before being send on. They do not mind in the slightest, for their only concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while staying with them.”

“I understand,” Harry assured.

“Very well, then,” Dumbledore said, leading the way back out of the dusty shed. “I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another new work! Yay! So I've actually be working on this story for a couple months at this point. I'm pretty excited about it. I've got like two and a half years plotted and almost four chapters written, so there will be more coming.
> 
> _Also, I know I paraphrased and quoted a lot of canon in this chapter. That's because I wanted to emphasize how Harry's thoughts have changed from canon. Don't worry, I won't be doing much more of that in this fic._
> 
> For those of you who support me on the Site-That-Must-Not-Be-Named (lest I get another warning from admin), you may recognize this from the working title "Survivalist".
> 
>  **Mini-rant**  
>  I generally tend to hop on the Molly Weasley bashing band wagon quite readily. I find her character smothering and bitchy in canon, particularly when she badmouths Sirius for the crime of being unjustly imprisoned and works so hard to protect Harry from the harsh realities of the world, ignoring the fact that losing a little innocence might end up saving his life. She lives in a delusion that it’s possible to protect children from all harm during a war just by smothering them efficiently enough and it rather pisses me off.
> 
> That said, I actually reread a ton of HBP while I was plotting this story and it kind of reminded me of some of her better aspects that I don’t often read about in fanfiction. And it reminded me of how much Harry and all the Weasleys tend to adore her despite her smothering instincts. So I’ve decided to write her closer to canon in this fic. Somewhat misguided but well-meaning and genuinely loving all of her children. Even Harry in her own way. So I won’t be ignoring her faults, but I won’t be emphasizing them either.
> 
> Sorry for the long note.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, Ron and Hermione almost literally dragged Harry out of bed for breakfast. Despite having missed their companionship, Harry found himself impatient with Ron’s pushiness and Hermione nosiness. Hermione looked like it was almost physically painful to keep herself from asking how he was coping, though Harry did appreciate that she was trying, even if he was helping by steering the subject far from any hint of it.

Ron wanted Harry to tell him about his “adventures” with Dumbledore. After last year, Harry wasn’t sure he ever wanted to have an adventure again. If he could be bored the rest of his life he thought that would be pretty okay. The fact that Ron hadn’t yet grasped that was more than a little annoying.

Or maybe Harry was more messed up about Sirius and the prophecy than he wanted to admit. He didn’t honestly know.

When they got down to the kitchen, Harry almost ran right into Bill, who flashed him a big smile and a cheerful “morning, Harry!” on his way around to help set the table.

Harry’s eyes followed the older boy because he’d always known that Bill was attractive, but wow. He still had the ponytail and the fang earring. He was currently dressed in a loose tunic and a tight pair of leather pants that really fit incredibly well on him.

Thankfully, Ron all but bowled Harry over to get to the table and Harry’s attention was forced away from how well Bill filled out those trousers before anyone noticed his distraction.

Harry hadn’t really noticed sexual attraction much before last year, honestly. He’d appreciated that Cho was very pretty in his fourth year and he’d even attempted to date her last year. Then, in March, he’d walked around a corner and found himself staring at a really astonishingly fit rear displayed so nicely as it’s owner bent down to pick up something from the floor. He’d felt a surge of lust unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

Then the person had stood up and Harry had almost died on realizing that he’d been ogling none other than Draco Sodding Malfoy, who’d been picking up his robe. Harry had no idea why it was on the floor and not his body and he hadn’t stuck around to ask. He’d also not looked at Malfoy the rest of the year when he could help it.

The damage had been done though and Harry had started looking a little longer than probably seemly at much of the school’s male population.

He hadn’t mentioned this discovery to Ron or Hermione, of course. He hadn’t even really discussed the issue with himself, though he’d gotten more used to the pleasure of looking.

He wasn’t sure he’d survive Bill Weasley if he was around much this summer. The man was entirely too fit to be fair. He’d let his beard grow just enough to look scruffy, which Mrs. Weasley was currently chiding him for, but it suited him surprisingly well.

And that was how Harry found himself spending the meal trying his best not to pull a Ginny and end up with his elbow in the butter dish.

About halfway through breakfast, while admiring Bill’s smile, Harry had the realization that it really didn’t matter if Bill did think him a kid or an idiot because it wasn’t like Bill would _ever_ be actually interested in Harry. Their leagues were oceans apart. Bill being ten years older than Harry and gorgeous and probably the coolest person Harry had ever met and he’d been headboy and he was a curse breaker, so he must be wicked smart. There was literally no way he’d ever be interested in Harry.

That realization, while a little depressing, actually worked to calm Harry down. Instead of worrying about what Bill thought of him, Harry just decided to relax and enjoy looking.

And if the memories were revisited while he was alone at night, no one ever had to know.

Bill was around a lot over the next couple of weeks. Apparently, he had his own flat in Hogsmeade, but he came around for meals every other day or so despite how Mrs. Weasley always chided him about his appearance. He seemed to take it with good humor and constant, gentle refusals when she offered to cut his hair or shave his face.

The more time Harry spent around the eldest Weasley boy, the easier Harry found it to relax around him, for which he was grateful. The Weasleys were important to Harry and he wasn’t sure he could handle it if something like his crush messed that up.

Also thankfully, Bill didn’t seem to notice Harry’s admiration and no one else mentioned it, so they must not have either. He was a little proud of himself for apparently keeping it under wraps.

On Harry’s birthday, there wasn’t really a party. With the tension and the family clock pointing all the hands at “mortal peril” all the time, no one seemed much in the mood. Instead, they had a rather subdued tea in which everyone gave Harry small gifts. He thanked everyone profusely, of course. From Mrs. Weasley’s homemade treats to Ron’s Honeydukes chocolates and Hermione’s bloody homework planner. He’d never fail to appreciate gifts given with good intentions. And a homework planner might not be much fun but the damn thing would probably end up coming in handy.

Even Bill gave him a present despite them not knowing each other all that well. The curse breaker gifted him a really rather fetching cloak pin, which had been surprising, but very nice. It wasn’t until that evening, when he and Bill ended up alone in the sitting room that Bill explained he’d imbued the pin with a portkey back to his own flat.

“Just don’t tell anyone,” Bill cautioned in an undertone. “It’s not ministry sanctioned and thus technically illegal, but I figured, in case of emergency, your safety was more important.”

Harry felt his eyes heat with tears in response to the statement and he clenched the cloak pin in his fist. Dumbledore could have done this at any time, but he hadn’t. It meant more to him than he’d have thought possible that someone put his safety before _anything_. No one really had before. Certainly not an adult.

He quickly turned his face away and wiped surreptitiously at his eyes while nodding and trying to sound as normal as possible as he thanked Bill again.

Bill’s big hand closed gently around his shoulder, but he let the subject drop, blessedly.

“So, ah.. How have you been?” Harry tried hard to change the subject in a way that wasn’t totally awkward. “I think Fred and George mentioned that you were dating Fleur last I heard?” Okay, maybe not the most natural subject change in the world, but whatever.

Bill sighed wearily, “No. I was never dating Fleur. She asked me to help her with her English. I did. She went back to France months ago. Britain’s a little too dangerous at the moment.”

“Really?” Harry asked, surprised. Then realized he probably shouldn’t be given the source of his information wasn’t the most reliable when it came to gossip. “Oh.” He literally could not think of anything else to say.

Bill just laughed a little, “Fred and George are almost as bad as mum about pairing me up with every female that gets near me. But, no. I’m quite happy dealing with my career and the war at the moment. I don’t think I could handle dating as well.”

Harry managed to smile at that. He rather felt like he knew what it was like to just have too much going on to worry for trivialities. Even if he had attempted dating last year. It hadn’t worked. And he wasn’t interested in coming out to anyone for liking blokes any time soon, so he wasn’t going to try that. “I know what you mean,” was all he said.

“Oh yeah?” Bill asked slyly. “No string of broken hearts for you?”

Harry laughed genuinely and it might have been the first time he did since Sirius died. He sobered a bit at the thought, but he didn’t lose his smile. “No. I think I’d be too afraid to read about it in Witch Weekly or something.”

“Ah, the perils of groupies,” Bill sighed tragically and Harry laughed again. The redhead gave him a warm smile for that. They drifted a moment in silence before Bill inquired. “So, I hear you’re planning to be an auror?”

Harry groaned a little at the topic. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“No?” Bill pressed curiously.

Harry could only shrug. “I mean, everyone keeps saying how I’d make a good one because I’m so good at Defense — and because my dad was one — but I don’t know if I’d really like it. I _do_ like Defense, I mean. And I’m good at it. I just don’t know if chasing Dark Wizards is the life I want to aspire to. I guess I was sort of born to fight Voldemort or whatever,” Bill didn’t so much as twitch at the name, “but if I live through this, I just kind of want to be done with it all. I mean, if I never had to worry for my life again, I think that might be a pretty nice life.” He knew he was rambling, but Bill didn’t seem to mind. He even looked interested.

“What do you mean, you were born to fight Voldemort?” Bill wondered. “Don’t tell me that talk about you being the ‘Chosen One’ is real?” he asked worriedly.

Harry sighed. He hadn’t taken Dumbledore’s advice to tell his friends about the Prophecy. And it wasn’t really a trust thing. He didn’t honestly think they’d tell anyone. He just didn’t want to listen to Ron try to make it into some grand adventure or Hermione excusing Dumbledore’s inactions for his whole life. It was just easier to stay quiet. But Bill was an Order member, so surely he was trustworthy, even if Dumbledore hadn’t deigned to tell any of his loyal followers about it so far. And maybe Bill was safer for him to talk to. If nothing else because Harry didn’t spend that much time with him, so if he was annoying in his reaction, it wouldn’t bother Harry too much.

“Dumbledore told me the prophecy after… what happened. At the ministry,” he admitted.

“What did it say?” Bill asked and he looked both interested and concerned, which was nice.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other. For neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies,” he recited effortlessly from memory. The words were on a constant repeat in the back of his mind and had been since he’d first heard them in Dumbledore’s office.

“So I have to fight him. In the end. And one of us has to die,” Harry said hollowly. “There’s nothing I can do about it. I… don’t want to fight,” he admitted and he felt his breath catch in his throat at saying it out loud. “I don’t think I can win, but I don’t think I have a choice in the matter. I mean, I’ve faced him before and lived, but that was always because of luck or outside influences. If I ever just had to face him directly and he didn’t just sit there and toy with me, I’d be dead like that,” he snapped his fingers decisively.

“Even without the prophecy though, I don’t think I ever had a choice. Voldemort’s not ever going to just leave me alone. Because that stupid old hack had to go and say I could defeat him and she might as well have just killed me herself. Because even if I don’t want to kill anyone, Voldemort won’t ever let me live for the chance that I _could_.” He drew in a big, shaky breath and tried to blink away the moisture in his eyes before it could fall. Merlin, he was a mess. Maybe he did need to talk to someone besides Dumbledore about all this.

“I think it should be your choice, Harry,” Bill said gently, “but don’t you _want_ to defeat Voldemort?” He even said the name without flinching. “He did kill your parents,” he pointed out, but without judgment. He really seemed like he just wanted to understand what Harry was thinking.

Harry could only shake his head as he swiftly wiped away the tears that did end up falling. “I don’t know if I even care anymore, Bill,” he admitted tremulously. “I feel like I’ve been fighting my whole life and it didn’t save Sirius in the end. Sirius chose to fight. My parents chose to fight. No one’s ever asked what I choose to do. No one cares. I was drafted into this war before I was born and everyone just expects me to follow the script. But I think the script ends with me dead when I’m not much older than I am right now and…” he swallowed. He didn’t want to die, but Merlin, he felt like a coward to even think it.

“You don’t want to die,” Bill finished for him.

Harry choked on a sob and buried his face in his hands, embarrassed to be breaking down in front of Bill. A moment later, he felt strong arms wrap around him and pull him against the man. Harry put up half a moment’s resistance before he just let his forehead rest against Bill’s shoulder and wrapped his arms tentatively around his back.

Bill held him so tightly that Harry almost felt safe for the first time in he didn’t know how long. He let himself just relax into the feeling. Just for a moment.

“It’s not cowardice to want to live, Harry,” Bill said quietly. “You’ve had more fights for your life at this point than most people ever will. They’ve got no right to judge you for wanting out.” He sighed and added, “Though I don’t suppose most people in the Order would agree with me.”

Harry huffed a humorless laugh at that understatement. No one in the Order seemed to understand that he was a real person and not some fairytale character just waiting around to fulfill his destiny or something.

“If you ever need help, Harry. Even if you just want somewhere to hide out if things get to be too much… You can always come to me. Use your portkey if it’s an emergency. I’ll help. Even if it’s not what Dumbledore wants or what’s for the Greater Good. Okay?”

Harry managed to nod, but it took him a couple minutes before the tears stopped. “Why are you so nice to me?” Harry whispered when he could manage it, still hiding his face in Bill’s chest. “You barely know me. Why do you even care?”

He felt Bill’s large hand rub firmly against his back in response. “Because you’re a good person, Harry. You don’t deserve any of this. If you want to fight in this war, I’ll do everything I can to help, but I’m not going to sit by and watch anyone force you into it. It’s not your responsibility to save everyone. You saved Ginny’s life and you saved my dad’s life. This family owes you more than we can ever repay. I just want you to have your choice.”

“Thank you,” Harry said around the lump in his throat. “I should, er, get to bed,” he said after a moment. He extracted himself from Bill’s quite pleasant hug and wiped his face briskly on his sleeve. He kept his face averted from Bill’s view as much as he could as he excused himself up to Fred and George’s empty room for the night.

He fell asleep pretty quickly that night and he couldn’t remember any dreams, but he woke up feeling lighter. He didn’t know if it was just talking about things or Bill’s offer to help him avoid the war if he wanted, but he woke up feeling strangely hopeful. It was an altogether foreign emotion, but he liked it a lot.

* * *

*** ~ * ~ ***

* * *

Bill paced the room nervously while he waited. With how long it had been, He must have watched the memory at least two or three times by now.

He was just starting to really work himself up when the pensieve lit up and the Dark Lord stood before it once more. Bill rushed to kneel next to the man again, silently waiting for him to comment or give orders.

“Come,” was the order he was given after a painfully long silence.

Bill quickly rose to follow as the Dark Lord made his way into an adjoining meeting room. Bill recognized it for the times he’d given a report during an Inner Circle meeting. This table was just large enough for that group.

The Dark Lord seated himself at the head and gestured Bill into another chair. He instinctively chose one with a seat left between himself and the end of the table.

“I am very pleased by your initiative to ingratiate yourself with Potter,” the Dark Lord said at last, a hint of a smile curving his full lips and revealing a dimple in his cheek. Contrary to what the Order believed, the Dark Lord was an incredibly attractive and very human-looking man. Bill had never seen the snake-like visage and honestly didn’t know if it was a glamor he used or an appearance he’d once borne.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Bill acknowledged with a dip of his head when his Lord paused.

Long, elegant fingers drummed lightly against the table while the Dark Lord seemed to ponder. “Retain your friendship with Potter. Keep me apprised of his feelings regarding the war. I’ve no doubt the old man will be working to ingratiate the boy to the idea of glory and sacrifice for the Greater Good. I need to know if he meets with success.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Bill acknowledged. It would hardly be a hardship. Harry was easy to like.

“Potter doesn’t want to fight,” the Dark Lord mused to himself with a shake of his head. Then an amused little smile turned his lips. “I shall never tire of watching the old man make mistakes. Let’s make the most of them, hmm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ad3904da956c01a22e229e4f501548f4/tumblr_ofeuz8mzGc1r0aavzo1_640.png) is my inspiration for Bill in this story, if you're interested.
> 
> This was a much shorter chapter than I typically post, but it really needed to end here. The next chapter is finished and should be out soon. Let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

Lupin dropped by every now and then over the weeks Harry spent at the Burrow. The werewolf looked quite gaunt and grim, but the tales he brought were of suspicious activity but no horrible deaths or anything. It was rather strange. Everyone had expected much more now that Voldemort’s return was common knowledge. The quiet just seemed to make everyone more frightened.

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of it.

On the morning after Harry’s birthday, their Hogwarts letters arrived. Harry’s included the Quidditch Captain badge. Harry could only frown at it while Ron crowed his excitement and Hermione congratulated Harry on getting a ticket to the Prefects’ special bathroom.

Dumbledore hadn’t given Harry the prefect position last year because he’d thought Harry had enough to be getting on with. That’s what he’d said at the end of the year. Yet this year he had the time to be Quidditch Captain? Now that Voldemort was openly back and he was to have special private lessons with Dumbledore. Now he had more time?

Had the man been lying about his reasoning last year or was this some kind of apology for being a giant prick last year?

Harry spent the entire day thinking it over before writing a letter to Professor McGonagall returning the badge and declining the position. Ron almost lost his mind to hear it, but he just couldn’t do it. Voldemort was openly back now. Harry had private lessons with Dumbledore to worry about. He also had his private Dark Arts study to conduct. And he had to keep his marks up enough to keep Hermione off his back.

There was no way he could _play_ Quidditch this year, much less serve as Captain.

Honestly, even thinking of playing kind of turned his stomach. Sirius was dead and there was a prophecy saying he had to fight and kill Voldemort or die trying. With all of that, it seemed almost obscene to worry about a game.

He highly suspected that McGonagall would be more than a little put out with him. She seemed to care an awful lot about the Quidditch Cup staying in her office, but he just put in his letter to her that he wanted the time to focus on his NEWTs this year and next. As a teacher, she shouldn’t be able to muster any complaint about that.

With the school letters having arrived, a trip to Diagon Alley was planned for the third.

On the morning they were to leave, Harry was surprised when he sat down to breakfast only to have Bill pass him a sack of galleons.

“Oi! Where’s mine?” Ron complained immediately.

“It’s his money, idiot,” Bill rolled his eyes at his little brother. “I got it out of your vault for you, Harry,” he explained, sliding a little gold key across to Harry as well.

Harry felt a shock of surprise course through him at the realization that he’d never gotten his key back from Mrs. Weasley last year. He didn’t really think she’d steal from him, but realizing that Bill had been to his vault and taken out money entirely without Harry’s knowledge was rather shocking considering he’d given the key to Mrs. Weasley. It made him wonder how many other people may have had possession of it over the last year.

He kind of felt like it might be a good idea to get like a statement for his vault or something. Just to reassure himself that he wasn’t unknowingly funding the Order or something.

“Try to keep hold of it this time,” Bill smiled, but his eyes were serious as Harry reclaimed his key.

Harry gave a grim nod that seemed to satisfy Bill. He didn’t think he could have done anything else but give it to Mrs. Weasley last year when she’d gone to do all of their shopping at the very last minute after their letters came the day before the return to Hogwarts. He probably should have made sure to get it back afterward though.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again, though he doubted it would come up. He’d be seventeen next summer so he could do his own shopping regardless of what Dumbledore or anyone else thought of it.

The shopping trip passed fairly uneventfully. Hagrid served as their security, which was odd as he couldn’t legally use a wand, but nothing bad had happened, so maybe Dumbledore knew what he was about. In this case.

They did encounter Malfoy at Madam Malkin’s, unfortunately, but he wasn’t as much of a prat as Harry honestly expected.

The blond’s eyes had narrowed and he’d been almost visibly biting his tongue the entire time they were in the same room, but he’d managed to remain civil the entire time, even with Ron grumbling rude things just loud enough for Malfoy to hear.

It was a bit creepy, really, but perhaps he was just on his best behavior because his mum was there acting like a perfectly polite, if icy cold pureblood lady.

* * *

*** ~ * ~ ***

* * *

When the time came to return to Hogwarts, Harry was sure he’d had the best summer of his life with being at the Burrow a full six weeks and even having a private bedroom the whole time. The privacy had certainly helped with his study of Dark Magic. He was beginning to feel like he was getting a grasp on the subject. At least a little bit.

Dark magic was not, in fact, just about harmful spells and evil intentions. There was actually a lot more to it, though harmful spells and the desire to hurt, control, or kill was a factor in a lot of it.

Necromancy, for example, didn’t seem really evil at all. It did tend to desecrate the dead and as such wasn’t very nice, but using dead things didn’t actually hurt anyone as they were already dead before the necromancy came into it. It was all about works of magic involving the dead, but it didn’t have anything to do with _people_ who were dead. Just the bodies they left behind. Soul magic was a more obscure field. That’s where you got into trapping souls and commanding ghosts and such, but there was at least one soul magic ritual he read about that was actually in the field of healing. It prevented the soul from leaving the body no matter how damaged so that a person could be healed from even the most grievous injuries. And, of course, necromancers tended to serve as healers for vampires as their bodies could not be treated with spells meant to heal living flesh.

He’d also read an old, thin, hand-written book about Magical Ambiance, which was a discipline that one accomplished through a great deal of meditation. Essentially, it was about learning to touch ambient magic and use it. With mastery, a person could apparently become so in tune with the magic of the world around them as to sense approaching danger and even gain some ability for foresight despite not being born a seer. The author warned in the beginning that it was considered incredibly dark because misuse had been known to drive people to homicidal psychopathy. If one did it properly, however, it wasn’t evil or even specifically dark, though it could be used as dark or light, which didn’t make a lot of sense, honestly.

Despite some reservations, Harry had started meditating two or three hours every third night, as the book suggested. It was hard because meditation didn’t come naturally to him. His mind always wanted to wander every which way when he wasn’t directing it toward something specific. He was slowly starting to learn to focus on his magic. That was the first step. Learn to immerse himself in his magic until it filled him completely.

Only when he could do that would he move onto the second step, which would be learning to let his magic flow seamlessly into the ambient magic of the world around him.

When September 1st rolled around, they took Ministry cars to the train station complete with an auror escort. It seemed ludicrous to Harry. Wouldn’t side-along apparition be much better security-wise? Hours riding in a car going from one known location to a second known location seemed to give someone a much better chance at an ambush than vanishing from one warded location and arriving at one guarded location a second later. And with the extra aurors, surely it wouldn’t have been that difficult to manage…

But, alas, wizards. Logic was not their strong suit.

Harry wasn’t complaining anyway because a second after he settled in next to the door, Bill slid into the seat next to him and he smelled amazing. Sort of woodsy and spicy. Harry found it no problem at all to sit there for three hours. He spent a lot of time just staring out the window and secretly memorizing the scent of the man next to him and exactly what it felt like when a bit of him pressed his warmth into Harry for a time.

He felt slightly pathetic for doing so, but considering that he’d not be seeing Bill again until Christmas and he was exceedingly unlikely to be so near anyone else he found attractive or interesting, much less both, until then, he excused himself. It’s not like anyone else knew how pathetic he was, at least.

When they arrived at the station, he quickly found that, once again, far too many people both read and believed the crap published in the Daily Prophet. Whereas last year he’d been a dangerous delusional to be watched with fear and disdain, this year they looked at him like the messiah. It was worse than his first year, honestly.

As he looked for a compartment with Ginny, having lost his best friends to the prefect meeting, Harry glared as coldly as he could manage at every single person he saw looking at him that way. What a bunch of stupid fucking pillocks.

His foul temper grew steadily worse when he and Neville were summoned to Slughorn’s compartment. Almost immediately, upon learning that the Belby kid wasn’t close to his famous uncle, he seemed to slip beyond the professor’s notice.

Harry found himself inspired by the treatment Slughorn gave the unfortunate student and took to copying it with regard to Slughorn himself. If the man thought it fine to treat a student that way just because he didn’t have close connections to his famous family members, Harry thought it entirely suitable to treat the professor that way. After all, Harry was _far_ more famous and important than Slughorn would ever be, right?

It didn’t honestly make him feel much better, though he did notice Zabini giving him looks that verged between mildly amused and vaguely intrigued.

The meal, at least, was quite good, but Slughorn would not stop prying at Harry to get some kind of confirmation about the whole “chosen one” thing. The man was gracious enough to accept Harry’s evasions and move on, but within a few minutes he’d have circled the conversation back around to it. It was infuriating and Harry’s cold and aloof attitude was in serious danger of becoming hot and furious. Shortly after they were done with the meal, Harry excused himself to the loo.

He then returned to his compartment and had no intention of returning to Slughorn’s. If pressed, he’d blame the pheasant. That ought to stop any recriminations cold. He had no intention of pandering to Slughorn this year, no matter that Dumbledore used that very thing to tempt the man into taking the position. Harry was already a thousand times more famous than he had any desire to be. He didn’t need a “leg up” from Slughorn or anyone else.

His life’s goals at the moment happened to be surviving Voldemort and maybe living to get married and raise a family. And if he was very, very lucky, perhaps managing to fade from the public eye through a life utterly devoid of anything heroic or overly interesting.

While Luna paged through her books quietly, Harry stared out the window and thought on his life. Hermione and Ron hadn’t yet returned and Ginny had gone off to visit other friends, so Harry had some time to think undisturbed. He wondered what career he might choose to help with his descent into obscurity. Teaching, maybe? It wasn’t glamorous, but it probably would mean too much exposure to the masses and maybe even people learning to admire him like they did Dumbledore.

Maybe he could open a public library if there wasn’t one. Hermione had never mentioned a magical public library and surely she would have if it existed, right? And no one looked up to librarians. Except maybe Hermione, anyway.

Things took a turn for the worse when Ron and Hermione returned to the carriage at almost the same time as Neville. Ron spent the rest of the trip fuming in jealousy at not being invited himself (he was a prefect, after all), while Hermione asked dozens of questions about who was there and what was said and what was the teacher like. She managed to intersperse some recriminations for Harry when Neville let it slip that Harry had escaped early.

Harry ended up feigning sleep to escape the argument. He did his best to work on his meditation despite the distraction and it at least helped him to ignore what the others were saying and credibly pretend sleep. Credibly enough that everyone else soon believed him to be asleep and quieted down to lowly voiced questions and grumbled complaints.

Harry wondered if this was what the whole year would be like. He supposed that he was probably the one with the problem. Ron and Hermione weren’t any different than they were last year, but he just couldn’t put up with them recently. He had changed. Watching Sirius die had changed him. Learning the prophecy had changed him.

Beginning to study the Dark Arts was likely changing him as well. Was it wrong of him to crave friends that would respect his wish to just not talk about everything all the time? Was it wrong to want friends who commiserated with him rather than scolding him or judging him?

Were they really so bad or was he just growing curmudgeonly? Maybe he was just impatient and intolerant, but whoever was to blame, they were really getting on his nerves.

When they eventually arrived at the school, Harry found that he had worked himself into something of a light doze. He’d drifted away from his awareness of the compartment and he did feel rather refreshed, more aware of the magic thrumming strongly inside him. It made him feel stronger. Lighter.

And somewhat less curmudgeonly.

Hermione gave him a concerned look as they boarded the thestral-drawn carriages. “You slept quite a while, Harry,” she noted. “Have you not been sleeping well?”

Harry couldn’t help the uncharitable voice in the back of his head wondering if she was more concerned he might be having grief-induced nightmares or Voldemort-induced ones. “Fine,” he dismissed, trying not to be short with her. “I’ve been working on learning meditation,” he admitted, deciding to give her something honest. “I couldn’t learn occlumency the way Snape taught it, but I thought maybe learning meditation would help.”

“That’s actually really smart, Harry,” Hermione congratulated at once. “In fact, if you’d put some effort into it last year, things may have been a lot different. Not that I’m saying any of that was your fault, of course, Harry,” she said hastily. “I just meant that you didn’t try very hard to learn occlumency. I am glad that you’re putting the effort in now.”

Harry looked out the window and let Hermione’s voice wash over him. Her speech was a combination of a lecture for not trying last year, congratulations for trying now, and direct quotes of everything she’d ever read on either meditation or occlumency.

When they reached the school, Filch was sweeping everyone with a secrecy sensor in search of dark artifacts. Goyle had something confiscated, but the sensor swept right over the pocket holding Harry’s bag of Dark Arts books without so much as a blip. He cautiously released the breath he’d been holding as he stepped on by. That could have been catastrophic. If he’d found the books, Dumbledore would have no doubt ended up with them and he’d have been _very_ disapproving of Harry having them. He might have never given them back even though they belonged to Harry. It wasn’t like Harry could report to the aurors that Dumbledore stole his illegal books, after all.

He needed to learn these things. He could only be grateful that the bag they were in was masking anything unsavory the books might be projecting. He wondered if that was purposeful on Kreacher’s part. The elf had to follow orders and he certainly had no love for Harry, but if he’d thought it would help protect books belonging to the House of Black, Harry could well imagine him putting them in a bag that would conceal their nature.

* * *

*** ~ * ~ ***

* * *

The first week of school was, at least, better than last year. He could say that much. Yes, Snape was teaching Defense this year. And it just went to prove that Snape’s disdain for Harry was never about his skill in class because he was really good at Defense and Snape still found no shortage of things to abuse him about.

The very first lesson, Snape had made the mistake of forgetting that Harry was more than merely adept at Defense. He’d taught the damn subject last year and it had kept him alive more than once. Snape had been trying to make a point of how inept Harry was in front of the entire class, but he’d neglected to observe the fact that being suddenly attacked tended to make Harry defend himself like his life depended on it.

Snape had ended up on his arse and Harry had ended up with detention, but at least he hadn’t managed to humiliate Harry.

The upside of Slughorn teaching potions was that Harry actually got to take the class despite only managing an E on his OWL. The downside was that Slughorn was teaching it. His favoritism and magpie tendencies did not relent in the classroom. Harry had also become the new owner of a heavily marked up potions textbook that made the professor think he was some kind of savant.

It had landed Harry with a bottle of felix felicis though, so he wasn’t complaining. That potion was beyond valuable given his lot in life. He’d taken to wearing it constantly on a cord beneath his shirt and he fully intended to take a swig the next time someone tried to kill him. Until then, he wasn’t taking any chances on someone stealing it.

Harry kind of didn’t understand why the auror corps didn’t just stock up on the potion and take in en masse the next time Voldemort stuck his head out. Sure, it couldn’t be used often, but if enough of them took it just once, surely they could defeat the man.

Then again, given how corrupt the ministry was, a third of them would probably defend Voldemort and another third would be too busy asking Dumbledore for orders to help the few aurors who actually worked only for the ministry.

Then, a week into term, Harry’s detention with Snape was postponed so that he could meet with Dumbledore for their first lesson.

To say it had been a disappointment would be an understatement of immense proportions. Despite his vague and meager hopes, Dumbledore still wasn’t teaching him anything that was likely to save his life. Not that it might not be important to know more about his enemy, but it just didn’t seem _as_ important as knowing how to actually _fight_ his enemy.

He was giving him history lessons, like he meant for Harry to write his memoirs when what he really expected was for Harry to kill the man. He’d said they would be important in the future, but of course he’d not said why this was so. It just didn’t make sense why Dumbledore couldn’t just explain things. Every bit of information Harry got had to be collected in tiny pieces of the full picture, none enough to explain anything but just enough to create more questions.

Harry couldn’t help but feel that the headmaster wanted Harry to _feel like_ he was being told things without actually giving him any useful information.

And then there was the memory itself. Merlin, the way Dumbledore casually accepted Merope’s abuse by her family was foul. As though the whole family was just nasty rather than acknowledging that Merope was a victim. What she’d done to Riddle Sr. had been horrific and there was no excusing it, but acknowledging that she’d been horribly abused and probably wasn’t right in the head to start with might have made sense.

Then the headmaster had so casually explained his theory about the drugging and rape of Voldemort’s father. Merlin, Harry was feeling rather paranoid about love potions now too. He remembered the twins had been selling them in their shop, but he didn’t think those were the same kind. Dumbledore thought Merope had probably used Amortentia on her victim, and Slughorn had taught Harry how to spot that. If he unexpectedly started smelling something that made him simultaneously think of flying over the Quidditch pitch on a warm day and Bill Weasley, then he’d just not eat or drink anything.

All the way back to the common room, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about what the headmaster hadn’t mentioned and was _not_ doing. He wasn’t preparing him to fight to the death a Dark Lord fifty years his senior. Surely he couldn’t truly think Harry would win that fight with nothing more than a Defense NEWT. Or less if this came to a head before he graduated, which it could.

Did Dumbledore even expect Harry to survive at all?

That thought sent a shiver down his spine because _what if he didn_ _’t?_ Surely that didn’t make sense because he seemed to honestly think only Harry could kill Voldemort and he definitely wanted the man dead. But then why not train him?

He mentioned love like it was a magic bullet, but not how it was supposed to work. It made no sense, which probably meant that Harry was missing some vital piece of information. As fucking always.

Ron and Hermione all but pounced on him when he got back into the common room and Harry felt his patience rapidly fray as it always seemed to do around them this year. They both wanted to know what Dumbledore had to teach him because Ron was still convinced it was all a great adventure that he was trying to live vicariously through Harry and Hermione thought Dumbledore was the smartest person in the world and was eager to gobble up every crumb of cryptic “wisdom” he had to offer.

He briefly explained what had gone on. Ron was rightly disappointed that no powerful spells or such were being imparted. Hermione wondered why Dumbledore was teaching him these things and Harry just gave her an irritable, “I don’t know!” before storming off to bed. He still hadn’t told them of the prophecy and he had no intention to tell them any time soon regardless of what Dumbledore thought of the matter.

This was his life and his probable death on the line. Ron and Hermione had been there for him through a lot, but he felt like he’d grown up a lot since losing Sirius and they were still kids playing at adventures. None of this was a game anymore because he finally, properly understood the stakes now. He’d always been lucky in the past. His mother’s sacrifice had burned Quirrell. Fawkes had healed him. Hermione happened to have a time turner they could use to go back and rescue themselves. Voldemort chose to toy with him instead of just killing him. Any of those things went differently, Harry’d have been dead.

But after so many lucky breaks, he’d sort of come to expect it. No matter how dire, things always worked out in the end.

Except they hadn’t. Sirius was _dead_.

And Harry didn’t want to fight again. He didn’t want to risk being the one to die this time. He wasn’t even sure if it would be worse if he died or if he got someone else killed through his actions.

Like Sirius.

He just didn’t want to do this anymore. And why the hell should he have to? Because some two-bit hack gave what _might_ have been a prophecy that _seemed_ to say he’d kill Voldemort or die trying? Personally, Harry was a bit focused on the “or die trying” portion because it seemed _way_ more likely. The prophecy did say “either” must die. It didn’t say and “the chosen one will kill the dark lord” or something. Why in Merlin’s name was Dumbledore so convinced Harry even had a chance? Just because the prophecy seemed to indicate it wasn’t completely hopeless?

Because Harry was so good at loving that Voldemort stood no chance against him? As though Harry had any experience with love. He loved to fly. He loved the Weasleys, he thought, because his affection for them was strong even when he was upset with them. Hermione, too, probably. No matter how much Ron and Hermione were irritating him these days, no matter how much he wished they’d just give him some space, he still cared about them. He didn’t really trust them because Ron had betrayed him before when he got jealous and Hermione when she thought it was for his own good, but he thought he could love them without trusting them.

How any of that love would kill Voldemort though… That Harry didn’t see.

With a sigh, he sealed the curtains around his bed. He’d meditate for an hour, see if he could clear his head some, then he was going to study his dark arts books. He could miss a little sleep for a good cause.

Who knows, maybe he’d find a dark immortality spell that could be countered by an excess of warm and fuzzy feelings and Dumbledore’s plans would finally be explained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sixth year will be a little heavy on "telling" because I want to get through the canon stuff that is staying basically the same without quoting entire scenes with only small changes. I find stories really boring when they do a lot of that, even if Harry's thoughts are totally different. It's still rehashing scenes I already know with very little alteration.
> 
> Fear not, however, there will be a liberal sprinkling of totally original scenes through sixth year that should stave off boredom.
> 
> Love to hear what you think of this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Sixth year was quickly proving to be hectic despite having fewer classes than in previous years. With the start of their NEWTs years, the teachers had sharply increased their workload. Nonverbal spells were now expected in all of their casting classes, which added an order of magnitude of difficulty to every spell they learned.

It had taken Harry a bit to figure it out, but by halfway through the second week, he was starting to get it. The key, he thought, was his meditation. He’d learned to clear his mind and immerse himself in his magic. Nonverbal casting was all about concentration and letting your magic flow through you without the words to help it along.

Hermione was obviously vexed by his newfound aptitude as he was picking it up quicker than she was. Maybe if it wasn’t for the marked up book that was making him better than her at potions, she would have handled it better. As it was, she was constantly on him to study, and then as soon as he started doing better than her at practicing, she turned very frosty. He was getting sick to death of her attitude.

At the end of the second week of lessons, there was a disturbing story in the _Prophet_ on Saturday. Apparently, Stan Shunpike, the pimply-faced, gossiping, Knight Bus conductor, had been arrested as a Death Eater.

“It says he was arrested after he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters’ secret plans in a pub,” Hermione said gravely. “He wouldn’t have been doing that if he was under the Imperius.”

“He wouldn’t have been doing that if he was a Death Eater,” Harry countered. “How long do you think Voldemort would let him live if he was really spouting off His secret plans in a pub? No Death Eater would be that stupid.”

Hermione grimaced in what was probably agreement, “They probably want to look as if they’re doing something,” she reasoned. “People are scared.”

Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “People are stupid. He was back for a whole year and everyone chose not to believe it. Now they know he’s back, they’re terrified even though he’s hardly done anything more than he did last year.”

“People remember the last war,” Hermione admonished gravely. “It’s only a matter of time until He’s back to his old habits.”

Harry just sighed. Personally, he wasn’t entirely sure he believed that. It didn’t make any sense for Voldemort to continue laying low after his return was outed. So why wasn’t he out killing en masse like he’d done in the last war? He and his Death Eaters had slaughtered anyone who openly disagreed with them. Now there was little more than the occasional unexplained disappearance. Not that that was a good thing, but it was better than open slaughter in the streets.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part though. It would be great if Voldemort had just mellowed with age or something, but he wasn’t going to suggest something like that. It would only lead to Hermione lecturing him on not letting his guard down or how Dumbledore didn’t think so or something.

“All right. Let’s go,” Ron pronounced and Harry blinked out of his thoughts to look at the redhead in confusion.

“Quidditch tryouts,” Ron complained at Harry’s look. “Just because you’re not playing this year, mate, doesn’t mean I’m not going to. Come cheer me on.”

Harry grimaced, “Ron, I really can’t this morning. I wanted to practice my spellwork.”

For a moment, Ron almost didn’t seem to understand, then his mouth hardened and his face started to turn red. “I supported you at every tryout and every game, mate. You can’t spare a few hours to return the favor?”

“You hardly had anything better to be doing,” Harry challenged, getting a little angry himself now. There was a madman out there right now hell bent on killing him. He’d quit Quidditch because he didn’t want to waste his time on the game. It hardly made sense to go waste his time watching Ron at it. And he did feel a little bad about not supporting his friend, but not as bad as he’d feel if Voldemort caught him unprepared again.

Ron’s anger turned to disgust, “I don’t even know you anymore, Harry. You’re always studying or disappearing with no explanation. You let me know when you feel like acting like my friend again.” And he stormed out of the Great Hall.

Harry heaved a heavy sigh. That was really rich coming from Ron.

“I hate to say it, Harry, but Ron’s kind of right,” Hermione spoke up. “You’ve not been treating either of us very well this year. What’s with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry hissed, trying to keep his voice down as he noticed quite a few people trying to eavesdrop, “maybe the fact that Sirius is dead? Or that we all almost died last spring as well? How about the fact that Voldemort is still out there and it’s only a matter of time until he tries to kill me again? No, really, Hermione, go watch Ron play Quidditch. I’m sure that’s the most important use of our time.”

This time, Harry decided to storm out before he could watch another one of his so-called friends walk away from him. This really just went to prove what he’d been thinking all summer. Watching Sirius die, losing the last chance at a real family, it had made him grow up in a way Ron and Hermione just hadn’t.

Harry had been hoping to use this weekend to get some practice on some of the things he’d been reading about. He wasn’t going to let this change his plans. He didn’t want to fight, but he’d rather fight than die. The next time someone tried to kill him, he wanted to be ready to defend himself with more than expelliarmus and luck.

Luck was known to run out, after all.

The Room of Requirement, he figured, was probably his best bet. He could “require” a room that would protect him from anyone detecting the magic he was using inside.

Unfortunately, after several minutes of pacing in front of the blank stretch of wall, he realized that there must be someone already inside the room and requiring that no one else could get into it.

He growled and kicked irritably at the wall. He didn’t know what else he’d expected. They’d shown to room to a couple dozen people last year. Naturally those people had probably taken to using it or even showed it to their friends now that Umbridge was gone and they didn’t feel the need to keep it secret.

He wanted to use the room to practice illegal spells to help save his life against the fucking Dark Lord and it was probably going to be occupied all year by people looking for a place to snog or shag or something.

He left the corridor angrily and racked his brain for an alternative.

He’d wandered all the way down to the third floor before he thought of the Chamber of Secrets. It was kind of gross and probably had a decaying basilisk in it, but Harry was virtually positive that no one would detect any Dark magic cast down there. And he certainly wouldn’t be disturbed if he could just manage to get in and out without anyone the wiser and the invisibility cloak would definitely help with that.

The only downside he could see was Myrtle. Even if she couldn’t see him, she might see the entrance opening and closing. And if she reported it to Dumbledore, well he was pretty sure he was the only one in the school even capable of opening it, so it wouldn’t be much of a mystery.

He didn’t have much choice, he finally decided. The Room of Requirement might be occupied more often than not this year and he needed to have a place he could be alone and practice his Dark spells. Just knowing the spells would be helpful to him fighting against Dark witches and wizards, but having cast the spells, having seen their effect and felt their magic would make a much larger difference, even if he never used the spells on actual people.

With a thought to getting back out of the chamber without trying to scale that pipe, Harry quickly looped back to his dorm to collect his broom. He shrunk it and slipped it in his pocket before making his way back out. On the fifth floor, he put on his invisibility cloak while he was in a secret passage and made the rest of the trip to the bathroom invisibly.

He was lucky enough to find the bathroom empty of any girls or ghosts when he arrived. He tried not to speculate on what Myrtle was up to, but he remembered her spying on him in the prefects’ bathroom in fourth year, so he knew she had hobbies.

Harry didn’t wait around to see if she’d come back. He just moved to the correct sink and concentrated on the tiny snake carved there. “Open up,” he hissed, even as he wondered if any word in parseltongue would open it or if the password really was that basic. Then again, if Salazar had meant for his descendants to find their way in, it wouldn’t make sense to make it too secure. When the pipe was revealed, he took a deep breath and slid his legs into the pipe.

He shook his head a bit at his twelve-year-old self just sliding off down this pipe without even stopping to wonder if there was a safe landing. He could have at least waited for Lockhart to land and checked to see if he was able to answer back before following him.

Thinking back, it really was rather shocking that he was still alive given some of the stunts he’d pulled. He’d done the same thing in first year, leaping down that trap door under Fluffy’s room as though there was no chance that the second obstacle was a long drop rather than a carnivorous plant.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, Harry pushed himself into the pipe, calling back a hopefully parseltongue “close” behind him. He figured it had worked when he heard the grinding sound of the sink sliding back into place. He hoped it would open up from this side, but he figured the worst case scenario, he’d just blast his way through it then reparo it afterward. It was better than having it hang wide open should any girl desperate enough to use Myrtle’s bathroom just happen upon the open pipe.

The tunnel at the bottom was as dirty and dark as Harry remembered. Harry lit the tip of his wand, then, after thinking about it, he transfigured a quill into a lantern and conjured some bluebell flames into it. It would leave his wand free for other spells.

He cringed at the crunch of small bones under his feet and cast a spell he’d seen Mrs. Weasley use over the summer, which swept the floor clear. It created a small pile of dust and bones along one wall, but that was okay. He just wanted to clear path to walk.

When he came to the cave-in Lockhart had created in Harry’s second year, he eyed the small opening he’d come through with dismay. He’d barely fit through when he was twelve. He was still short for his age, but he’d clearly grown a lot since he was twelve. He supposed he could levitate the rocks out of the way, but he was a little worried about causing more of the ceiling to cave in if he moved the rocks that might be supporting it.

After a moment, a simple solution presented itself and he figured it was worth a try. He pointed his wand at the hole in the ceiling and cast _reparo,_ trying to put a little more strength into it than he would to fix his glasses.

The huge stones immediately began to lift themselves back up into the ceiling and within seconds, it looked good as new. Maybe even better than the ceiling around it.

He huffed a small, disbelieving laugh. That spell was utterly incredible. Simple enough Hermione had been able to cast it before they started their first year, yet powerful enough to repair a cave-in in an ancient tunnel.

He _really_ loved magic.

It was just before he reached the old basilisk skin that Harry noticed a smaller, branching tunnel. It was maybe a little under a meter wide and the meager illumination provided by his lantern didn’t make it overly obvious, but he still couldn’t believe he’d not noticed it last time.

Then again, last time he’d been terrified on his way in and coming down hard from adrenaline on the way out, so maybe it wasn’t so surprising. For now, he just made a mental note to come back and investigate it later. At the moment, he wanted to get into the chamber and figure out what he would do about the basilisk corpse.

The walk was shorter than he remembered, but again, he’d not been in the best frame of mind the last time.

He pursed his lips at the snakes that seemed almost to be watching him in return. Deciding to test his theory on the password, this time he said, “Clouds,” just because it was the first word that popped into his head when he started looking for a random word that wasn’t related to his surroundings.

And the snakes moved and the wall opened for him just as it had the last time. So the words really didn’t matter, just the language.

Harry entered the chamber warily despite not expecting any basilisks or possessed diaries this time around. His body tensed with the memory of terror and despair as he looked on the pillars decorated with twisting serpents, their eyes vacant and gaping, yet oddly seeming to watching him regardless. Apparently that effect wasn’t merely the fear of a twelve-year-old walking into a basilisk’s den in search of a maybe-already-dead girl he barely knew.

He took a bracing breath as he stepped inside and instantly regretted it when the foul reek of old death filled his mouth.

With a grimace, he cast the bubblehead charm on himself. He’d learned that one after seeing Cedric and Fleur use it in the Second Task. Instantly, the smell was gone and Harry breathed easier as he moved further into the Chamber. As he remembered from his second year, torches burst to life throughout the room now that it was occupied and Harry placed his lantern on the floor near one of the pillars. He could come back for it if he found a need or else he could pick it up on his way out.

The basilisk corpse, he soon found, had decayed down to a dried out husk of rotting skin draped over a collapsed skeleton. The entire thing was sunken at least a meter into the floor where Harry could only guess that the blood and venom and other fluids of the decaying creature had eaten away at the stone. He thought it unlikely that a repairing charm would fix that as readily as it had the tunnel outside.

He tried several cleaning charms on the basilisk remains, then a vanisher, but nothing so much as upset the macabre mess.

He sighed heavily. A basilisk was a very powerful Dark magical creature. It figured that even it’s corpse would resist magic cast at it. He didn’t much care for the idea of having to use a bubblehead charm every time he came down here.

After several minutes of staring at the remains in consternation, Harry had an idea. They’d just started talking about permanent transfigurations in class. Apparently, it required a lot of concentration and a much greater application of magical power to make a transfiguration permanent. It was worth a try.

He didn’t, of course, think that he could transfigure the remains any more successfully than he could vanish them, but they were sunken into the floor. He laid down on the dirty ground to check, but they were entirely below the level of the floor around the depression.

With a determined nod, Harry used a powerful aguamenti to fill the hole with water. He was a little worried that the thing would float, but it was either heavier than the water or stuck down to the floor well enough that it didn’t. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind as he did when he meditated, then focused as fully as he could on what he wanted to happen. He encanted the spell aloud, not wanting to fight with nonverbal casting when his concentration needed to remain on the spell itself.

The water sort of seemed to ripple, and then gray stone, identical to the floor of the chamber, began to replace the water. He held the spell until he was certain that the effect was complete all the way through, then let it go. His breath whooshed out as he felt a tingle run down his arms into his fingertips. He didn’t think he’d ever put that much magic into a single spell before. Even when he’d had his wand locked with Voldemort’s in the graveyard, that had been more about concentration than magical power.

No wonder permanent transfiguration was so hard.

With the source of the smell gone, Harry went about the chamber liberally distributing air freshing charms that they’d learned in third year. It left a faint pine scent behind and when Harry cautiously dispelled his bubblehead charm, he was very pleased that pine was what he smelled. There was maybe a hint of rot lingering, but he suspected that would dissipate on it’s own now the basilisk was buried.

It was even kind of fitting, he mused, that the corpse was forever entombed within Salazar’s chamber. He didn’t feel bad about killing it because it had been kill or be killed and he was quite happy to be alive, but there was a faint sense of regret that he’d never had the chance to even know if the beast was really crazy or believing that muggleborns should die or if she was just following orders.

Shaking those thoughts, Harry spent a few minutes casting cleaning charms around the place so that he could more easily use the space without getting filthy. He added a cleaning charm to his own robes after realizing how filthy he’d gotten when he’d briefly lain on the floor. He then found the books he was looking for in his shoulder bag and set about conjuring targets and trying out the spells he’d been learning.

The targets were only temporary constructs as permanent conjuration was even more difficult than permanent transfiguration, but that was actually ideal. If they disappeared after a few minutes or hours or whatever then he wouldn’t need to clean up any destroyed bits left from his spells.

Harry gave it a couple of hours and was feeling pretty accomplished by the time he decided to head out. The Dark spells were actually easier to cast than he’d been expecting. Certainly a lot easier than the Patronus, which was kind of what he’d been fearing. A lot of them did require an emotional component like that spell did. Like the Unforgivables did, so he was honestly expecting them to be really hard, but they weren’t. Maybe this was what they always said about the evil path being easier than the righteous one.

Or it went something like that. He didn’t remember exactly, but he knew the concept was right.

He’d focused on dueling spells first because they were the most likely to be coming at him if he was attacked. Some of them were pretty gross. Like the entrails expelling curse. Honestly, why was it ever necessary to expel someone’s entrails? Other spells were more basic though undoubtedly plenty deadly. There were cutting and severing curses, which were similar though the latter obviously meant more for deeper cuts while the former were generally more about many long cuts, causing severe bleeding rather than cutting someone into pieces. There were bludgeoning curses and piercing curses.

Harry could definitely see why these spells would be preferable in a real fight. Granted the expelliarmus was still a valid tactic, but people could have a second wand. Or they could pick a wand back up. Or they could even be able to cast wandlessly. On the other hand, if you cut their arm off, they’d be less likely to bounce back and continue trying to kill you. It wasn’t pleasant, certainly, but if he was fighting someone trying to kill him, these spells would be much more effective.

He packed up his books and left the conjured bits of destroyed stuff to disappear on their own when they were ready. It was nearly an hour until lunch still, but Harry wanted to explore that smaller tunnel before he had to leave.

He retrieved his lantern along the way. The transfiguration and the fire were still going strong, it seemed.

He tensed a bit again as he approached the tunnel. He didn’t expect any more basilisks, but he had no idea what else might be down here. He proceeded cautiously down the tunnel. It went maybe a couple dozen meters, then turned a corner and continued in a steep set of stairs going up. The tunnel was very dusty but essentially unremarkable as he walked up so many steps his legs burned and he suspected he was maybe going back up to the school. He hoped this might be an alternate entrance because going in an out in Myrtle’s bathroom was a risk.

Eventually, the steps leveled off into a few meters of flat tunnel that ended in an iron-bound door.

Harry took a minute to catch his breath. Five plus years in a seven-story school, he was very used to climbing stairs, but that had still felt like a huge climb. He wished Salazar had been lazy enough to make the steps moving like the ones leading to the headmaster’s office.

He assumed this door would lead back into the school, but he wasn’t sure, so he donned his invisibility cloak and readied himself for anything as he put his hand on the knob and eased it open.

Beyond was a basic stone corridor that looked exactly like any part of the dungeon corridors he’d seen.

So he probably was back in the school.

The door clicked shut behind him and he spun in surprise, having not meant to close it. Apparently it did that on it’s own. Except that it was now gone. He was facing a blank stone wall exactly like everything around it.

After a moment of thought, he decided he wasn’t surprised. If this really was a part of the normal school, it was said the castle had been searched numerous times for the Chamber of Secrets and it had never been uncovered. Obviously it wouldn’t just be behind a door in the dungeons. Even a door requiring a parseltongue password to open would have been discovered and remarked at some point, he suspected.

After looking around carefully to be sure he was alone, Harry tried hissing for the door to open, but there was no hint of it. He spent several minutes just hissing different words and phrases at the wall in hopes of uncovering an actual password for it, but he had no luck. Either it did require a password he couldn’t guess or it really only opened from the inside, which was possible. Maybe the pipe was the only way in and this the only way out that didn’t require a phoenix or a broom or something.

Well, he decided, it was better than having to go back out in the girl’s bathroom with no way to know if it was occupied before he got into it. He could make this work.

Now to find his way out of the dungeons.

In the end, Harry spent nearly half an hour wandering corridors that all looked terribly alike. He used the four-point direction spell to make sure he wasn’t wandering in circles, but not knowing where he’d come out relative to the rest of the castle, it didn’t help all that much. Finally, he’d just sat down on the floor, cleared his mind, and meditated. He’d gotten to the point of letting his magic wander out of his body now, and it allowed him to feel the magic around him to some degree. He repeated the process every couple of minutes in his wandering until he began to notice the magic around him increasing, which he thought probably meant he was getting closer to more populated parts of the school.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally recognized the corridor around him as being near the potions classroom.

By the time he made it to lunch, it was half over. His mind was so full of his morning adventure that he actually forgot that Ron and Hermione were mad at him until he sat down next to them and got a glare from Ron and a disapproving frown from Hermione.

It made for a rather awkward silence, but Harry decided to ignore them and focus on eating before the food disappeared.

Seeing as his friends were mad at him, Harry figured he wouldn’t be missed and went back down to the chamber until supper. He worked to learn the path from the exit door out of the dungeons on his way out and made it in considerably less time, though he did have to stop and meditate a few times to make sure he was still going the right way.

Ron still wasn’t talking to him when they went to bed that night and Hermione only wanted to talk to him to lecture him on being sensitive to Ron’s feelings and balancing his life and trusting in Dumbledore.

He went to bed bitterly wondering why he was friends with those two at all.

* * *

*** ~ * ~ ***

* * *

Following the advice in the thin, handwritten book about Magical Ambiance, Harry had reached the point in his meditation that he was giving up every third night of sleep to it entirely now. Instead, he spent the night sitting in his bed and focusing on letting his magic leak out of his body and mingle with the ambient magic around him. As he fell deeper into the meditation and as his magic began to flow more freely, Harry began to gain a sense of the magic that was more than just greater or lesser.

He could feel the different way it flowed around the room versus through the other boys in the dorm. It was still difficult to define the differences, but they were there.

Each night he did this, he felt his control become greater. His magic flowed more seamlessly into the magic around him until he began to feel the connection between them.

The danger of this discipline did not, apparently, come with the meditation, so he wasn’t too worried. The danger was in when one started channeling the ambient magic through their bodies to use it in various ways. Apparently, the magic could be empowered as it passed through you by pushing your emotions into it, but doing such could apparently drive one insane. It wasn’t really clear on exactly how this happened, merely warning that emotions needed to be used with extreme caution and meditation after such use was extremely important to purge the taint of it.

To Harry, it sounded like a lot of the Dark magic he’d been reading about. A lot of it tainted the user and required cleansing rituals periodically to keep it from infecting the body and mind. He figured that was probably what happened to Voldemort. Either the man hadn’t known about the cleansing rituals as he’d not had as many resources growing up or he’d just thought himself above needing them.

Harry figured that he’d be _very_ careful when he got to using ambient magic. He had no desire to turn out like that psycho.

Between studying Dark Arts, keeping up with classes and homework, and dealing with Ron and Hermione, the weeks passed quickly. They had made up after a week of icy silences and cold glares. Though they both seemed to still think they were on the right side of their argument, it was just easier to get along than not and Hermione was working hard to push them to it.

Harry still felt rather cold and distant toward them both. He tended to tune out Hermione’s lectures more often than not, but if she noticed, she didn’t say anything. And Ron had stopped asking him to help with Quidditch or play chess but otherwise seemed normal, so he wasn’t sure how Ron was feeling about things. They still talked rather amicably between classes and over meals, so it worked.

The first Hogsmeade weekend took place halfway through October and the weather was terrible with freezing winds gusting right through their clothes with all warming charms seeming to wear off in seconds. He concluded that he needed warmer robes or stronger warming charms. Zonko’s was closed down, sadly, so their first stop ended up Honeydukes where they had the poor luck of running into Slughorn.

Blessedly, the next dinner the man had planned turned out to be on Monday when Harry was meeting Dumbledore for their second “lesson”. Harry had, unfortunately, been forced through two of Slughorn’s dinners so far. He kind of wished he’d accepted the Quidditch Captaincy as it would have been nice to schedule a practice every time Slughorn scheduled a dinner, but that would have just taken up even more time as the practices would have had to be more frequent than the dinners.

And he always sneaked out of the dinners as early as humanly possible. He wasn’t really worried about making Slughorn like him, after all. Given his fame and “chosen one” status, Slughorn would probably love him no matter what. He just couldn’t figure out how to refuse the incredibly pushy invitations to these dinners. He still treated the man as coolly as he could manage, but Slughorn seemed not to notice.

After restocking their sweet stashes, the three of them headed for the Three Broomsticks as a warm place to kill some time, though it would likely be packed beyond reason with everyone else looking to do the same.

Then they ran into Mundungus outside the pub and Harry’s eyes locked on the items covered in the Black Family Crest that were filling the smelly man’s case.

Without he quite realizing what he was doing, he had the thief pinned against the wall of the building, wand at his throat. “You lousy fucking thief!” he screamed at the man. “What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place? How _dare_ you!” A dozen of the worst curses Harry had managed to cast ran through his head in rapid succession. A severing curse would take the man’s head right from his shoulders. But maybe that would be too quick. Maybe there was a good use for the entrails expelling curse after all.

Before he could give in to his moment of madness, with a bang, Harry was shoved back from the dirty little man who must have gotten his wand in hand while Harry was imagining painful ways to kill him.

He lurched to grab Mundungus again, but the man had scooped up his case and disapparated with a strident crack a second later. The worthless rat had probably been in such a situation before, come to think of it. A lot of people probably wanted the fool dead.

Harry screamed in frustration.

“There’s no point, Harry,” Tonks said as he came upon them without warning. Her wet hair was brown of all things, a strange sight considering he’d only ever seen her with wildly colored hair. “Mundungus will probably be in London by now. There’s no point in yelling.”

“He’s nicked Sirius’ stuff!” Harry raved furiously. “ _Nicked_ it!” he emphasized in case she hadn’t understood properly.

“Yes, but still,” she dismissed without care. “You should get in out of the cold.”

Harry stared after her in disbelief as she wandered off. “Isn’t she an auror?!” he demanded of his friends. “Shouldn’t she care about reported theft!?”

“She’s right though. Come on,” Hermione urged as she led the way inside.

“Isn’t she an Order member?” Harry hissed as they walked inside, “Shouldn’t she care about him stealing from _headquarters_?”

“I know, Harry, but please keep it down,” Hermione simultaneously placated and chastised. “Go and find a seat. I’ll get us some drinks.”

Harry stared after her, his rage not at all appeased by her managing. Why did no one seem appropriately fucking angry about this?

“There’s one over there,” Ron said rather sullenly.

“I’m going to the loo,” Harry growled out and stalked off before his “friend” could comment. He was so sick of every single person in his life at that moment that he just wanted to scream and rage but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. And it might make people think he was dangerously crazy again, which he didn’t need.

Luckily, the loo was empty and he was able to lock himself inside. He immediately called Kreacher.

“What can Kreacher be doing-” the elf resentfully began to inquire.

“Kreacher,” Harry interrupted, “I want you to lock down Grimmauld Place so that no one but me can get inside,” he said coldly. “Then I want you to do the best you can to track down every single piece of Black property that has been stolen and you have my permission to steal it all back. Bring anything you find back to the house and keep it safe.”

Kreacher stared at him a moment, then actually grinned and gave a deep bow before disappearing.

Harry shuddered a little at having pleased the damn elf so much. Surely that couldn’t be a good thing, right?

Whatever. He was fucking done with this. He let the Order go on using Grimmauld Place despite it belonging to him now and this was how they thanked him? Mundungus stole from him and Tonks didn’t even care? Had she known what he was doing before? Is that why she’d been so blasé about it?

He’d always rather liked Tonks, but his opinion had changed drastically after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always hated how nothing was done about Mundungus stealing from headquarters. Tonks didn’t even seem to care and when Harry told Dumbledore, he got an assurance it wouldn’t happen again but nothing more than perhaps a lecture ever happened to Mundungus and Harry didn’t get anything back. I know in canon this scene was basically just foreshadowing the whole bit with Umbridge and the locket in Deathly Hallows, but it seemed like a huge betrayal to me that they’d be stealing from the house Harry was so kindly letting them use. I could see Dung doing it, but Tonks not even caring seriously pissed me off.
> 
> So now Harry’s pissed about it, too.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry’s fury had cooled by the time he had to meet Dumbledore for their “lesson” two days after he’d caught Mundungus with Black family heirlooms, but it was still simmering lowly. He really didn’t want to deal with Dumbledore right now. He didn’t want to watch another horrible memory and have Dumbledore justify atrocities like they were mere schoolyard pranks gone wrong.

Unfortunately, he didn’t really have a choice. He couldn’t exactly just say, “thanks but no, I’ll manage on my own.” Even though he honestly believed he’d be better off on his own preparing for the war and everything.

After a little obligatory smalltalk, Dumbledore began telling Voldemort’s story again, phrasing it like a fairy story of all things.

He learned how Merope was so desperate that she sold a precious family heirloom — her only possession of value — for a mere ten galleons at Borgin and Burke’s. So desperate and with her child’s life on the line and yet she apparently wouldn’t use magic because of a broken heart. Harry supposed that people did fall apart like that, but it was difficult for him to fully process. He’d spent his entire life surviving. He wasn’t sure he’d even be capable of just giving up, even if the only life on the line was his own. If there was an innocent child involved — particularly his _own_ innocent child — he was pretty sure he’d beg, steal, and _kill_ if it was necessary.

Then things got really interesting and Dumbledore showed him the memory of when he first met Tom Riddle.

Harry felt physically nauseous as he watched Dumbledore soak up every vile thing Mrs. Cole could say about an eleven year old boy and never even question it. By the time he walked into Tom Riddle’s room, he’d quite decided about him. The fact that boy was emotionally withdrawn and boasted about feats of less than nice magic had just encouraged his distrust to grow. He treated the boy like crap, pretending to burn every possession of a kid with almost nothing. Threatening him to return the few bits of junk he’d managed to steal for himself or maybe not be able to go to Hogwarts at all.

Then Tom admitted to being able to speak to snakes and Harry could see that it just cemented everything in Dumbledore’s mind. Tom Riddle was evil.

And yes, it turned out true in the end, but surely he wasn’t evil at that age. Surely if Dumbledore had taken him under his wing, things could have turned out differently. Maybe Voldemort wouldn’t ever have been kind, but he might have not turned homicidal.

The worst part was that Harry could fit himself into that same position so easily. If he hadn’t been the boy who lived. If Dumbledore had been deputy headmaster and come to collect him from the Dursleys. He’d have listened to all the horrible things they said about him. About his unnaturalness. About how he used it against everyone. They’d probably have even believed it.

Harry couldn’t have bragged about all the magic he’d done at that age because he hadn’t, but if he’d done stuff like that, he would have. Why not? He’d have had no reason to know it wasn’t normal for wizards. He’d have wanted to impress the man offering him a way out of his horrible life. He might have even admitted to being able to talk to snakes if he’d thought of it. He’d even have been discovered a thief as he’d filched everything he thought he could get away with from Dudley, hiding it away to play with when he was locked in his cupboard or just to keep to know that he _had something._

And then if he’d had no reason to avoid it, he _would_ have been sorted into Slytherin.

It was truly unnerving how he could have ended up in the same shoes as Tom Riddle. The only difference being he wasn’t as magically powerful and he was the Light’s vaunted Savior and thus no one questioned his goodness.

To Harry, it just seemed like Voldemort — Tom Riddle — had been a boy who’d grown up in even worse circumstances than Harry. It would be like his life but with a dozen or so children as cruel as Dudley living with him. If Harry had had control of his magic at a young age, it’s very possible he’d have used it to hurt and control his tormentors as well.

When their discussion of the memory came to an end, Dumbledore switched topics. “There was one other thing I’d hoped to discuss before we part, Harry. It seems that Grimmauld Place has closed up and resisted all attempts at entrance. Would you happen to know why that is?”

Harry took a bracing breath and admitted, “I’ve changed my mind about allowing the Order to use it.”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, “I see. Would this have anything to do with what young Nymphadora told me of your encounter with Mundungus this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Harry frowned. “I let the Order use it in good faith. Then I find out Order members are stealing from me and Tonks couldn’t be bothered to so much as care. I think I’ll keep it locked up for now.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore murmured, “May I ask how you were able to lock it down from Hogwarts?”

“I asked Kreacher to do it,” Harry admitted, hoping that that information wouldn’t give Dumbledore a hint to breaking in or something. He wouldn’t do that, would he? If Harry said no, then that was breaking and entering if he did it anyway. Harry was underage but Dumbledore had still said it belonged to him.

“Yes, that makes sense,” Dumbledore allowed. “I understand that you’re upset, Harry, but that house really is important to the Order. Some members have no permanent residence, Remus Lupin included.”

Harry felt a moment of regret for turning Remus out, then pushed the thought away. Remus didn’t care about him. Not one single letter had he gotten from that man since Sirius died. It didn’t matter how busy he was. If he really cared, he could have gotten out a short letter occasionally. It was obvious that Harry simply wasn’t worth the bother to him. “Well, there’s lots of members of the Order. Surely someone else has a room to let him use.” Really, why was it his responsibility to house a bunch of adults? Shouldn’t they be able to manage that themselves? And Remus was at a disadvantage but why couldn’t someone else give him a room to stay in? He knew full well the Burrow had some vacancies these days with all but Ron and Ginny moved out and even them at Hogwarts now.

“I imagine that can be arranged if necessary, though it will place a burden on some of them.”

“I’m burdened by being robbed by guests in my house!” Harry couldn’t help but snap. Why did no one seem to think that was a big deal?

“What Mundungus did was very wrong, Harry. I’m not suggesting otherwise. Currently the man has gone to ground. I believe he’s rather dreading a conversation with me at the moment.”

_Oh yes, a lecture. That will show him._ Harry’s mouth tightened and he looked at his hands in his lap.

Dumbledore sighed lightly, “I know that you value Sirius’ things, Harry, but you should remember that it was Sirius himself who wished the Order to use that house.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Sirius,” Harry ground out. “Honestly, how would you feel if you let me and my friends have free use of your office and then found out I wasn’t watching them close enough and someone was stealing from you? Would you be eager to hear me just say ‘Well, I’ll tell them not to, now’ and let us back in?” That was rhetorical, so Harry didn’t wait for a response before concluding, “No. I’m keeping the house and it’s contents just as they are. I’ll need a place to live when I graduate and I’d rather it not be stripped bare of everything of value when the time comes.”

Dumbledore responded with a saddened, disappointed sigh that seemed to illustrate how childish he thought Harry was being. He made no more attempt to change his mind though, so Harry chose to ignore that.

It was quite late by then and Harry was so frustrated he refused to even answer Ron and Hermione’s questions when he got back to the common room. He just insisted he was tried and sealed himself inside the curtains of his bed.

He then stewed in silence until he heard everyone else go to bed before coming back out for some books to read. It wasn’t a meditation night, unfortunately. It might have helped to clear his head, but reading for a while should help him to calm down as well. Reading about Dark curses was very effective in cooling his anger. Reminding himself that he wasn’t helpless. That he would protect himself and his enemies would be the ones to suffer.

It was possible that he was getting morbid, but he thought himself entitled given the shit storm that was his life. He didn’t _really_ plan to kill anyone that wasn’t trying to kill him after all.

* * *

*** ~ * ~ ***

* * *

Surprisingly, Halloween manged to pass without anything horrible happening, though Harry was on edge all day, then tossed and turned all night with barely a wink of actual sleep. He’d sort of been conditioned to expect catastrophe on that day since he’d entered the wizarding world. In first year there was the troll, then the first petrification in second year. Third year Sirius had torn up the fat lady’s portrait trying to get into the tower and of course the Goblet of Fire in fourth year. He supposed there was nothing specific last year, but the whole year had been so horrible he’d hardly noticed.

The first Quidditch game of the season was in the second week of November. Gryffindor was playing Slytherin and Ron was, as usual, a wreck. Harry knew that he was a good player if he could just get past the nerves but he’d tried all the reassurance techniques he knew and nothing had seemed to help.

And with the way Ron had been behaving, switching between nerve-induced-nausea and just treating everyone around him like shit, Harry hadn’t been overly inclined to go out of his way. It wasn’t as though Harry didn’t deal with stress and he managed to avoid treating his friends like crap. Granted he snapped at them occasionally but he wasn’t nearly so bad as Ron. Even during the Tri-Wizard Tournament he hadn’t been so bad. Even last year with Umbridge and Snape and Voldemort all competing to make his life miserable, he didn’t think he’d been such a dick as Ron was being.

Of course, Ron’s bad mood had been exacerbated by Slughorn’s continued favoritism of Harry and Hermione despite neither of them really enjoying it.

Still, Harry dragged himself away from everything else to watch Ron’s game. Granted, he nearly wished he’d not done once he was out there. Ron played so poorly that Gryffindor lost the game despite Ginny catching the snitch. She and Draco were actually pretty well matched for seekers, so that part at least had been a pleasure to watch, but Ron’s performance had been dismal.

When they got back to the common room, Ron went straight to bed, hiding himself behind the curtains whether to sleep or just sulk. The majority of Gryffindor House, lacking Ron to deride, seemed keen on pointing the finger at Harry. After all, if he’d still been seeker, he’d have more than likely caught the snitch before Slytherin could get enough points to win them the game.

Harry found it tedious but unsurprising that everyone had turned on him again. It was rather a trend at this point.

Harry decided to use the treatment as an excuse to get out of Gryffindor and slip back down to the Chamber for some practice.

Harry was getting good at temporary conjurations now, so he didn’t hesitate to conjure himself a cushion to sit on in the Chamber. Rather than the stiff, thin cushion he’d managed the first time or the overly fluffy, not at all supportive one he’d made the second time, this cushion was firm enough to keep him well separate from the cold floor, yet soft enough to be comfortable for hours. It even had a satiny cover, though the stone gray color and the little snakes embroidered around the side weren’t intentional. He suspected the general decor of the Chamber was giving his subconscious ideas.

Either way, it was damn comfortable, which was what he’d been most concerned about.

He settled down on it with a sigh, then went about conjuring a variety of small trinkets in a line in front of him. He started with a small crystal lion, snake, badger, and eagle. Then he added a series of plush cubes in red, green, blue, and yellow.

Once those were lined up in front of him, he put away his wand, closed his eyes, and focused his breathing as he let his magic slowly radiate out from his body to mingle with the magic around him. He wasn’t sure why, but none of his Hogwarts classes had ever hinted at magic even existing outside the bodies of magical creatures or the things they created. Was the knowledge really so rare or was it just so forbidden that it would never be mentioned where children could hear?

He wasn’t sure of the answer, but he did know that the magic he carried inside him was but an infinitesimal drop compared to the magic he was beginning to realize existed outside of him or any other magical being. When he’d first begun to learn about ambient magic, he’d imagined that it was like an invisible fog that hung about in magical areas or around magical beings. Kind of leftovers. Fumes given off by magical people or constructs or spells.

Recently, however, he’d started to connect more strongly with ambient magic. He’d started to feel it more clearly. And it was not a byproduct of magical beings but rather it felt almost the other way around. It was, in fact, very easy to believe that magical beings came into existence due to perhaps a slightly stronger concentration of this ambient magic during their conception or gestation.

Because ambient magic was vast. “Ambient” wasn’t nearly sufficient to describe it, in fact. The term was hilariously underpowered. If anything, Harry thought a better term might just be Magic with a capital M. It might even be accurate to call it God, though he wasn’t sure how much will it really had. It was that vast though.

Though he’d never been on the ocean, he thought maybe if you were in a tiny rowboat in the middle of the Atlantic, that might begin to hint at the feeling. Like he and every other magical being combined were insignificant specks on the grand tapestry that was Magic.

It was both humbling and exhilarating and everything he learned just made him want to learn more.

It didn’t take him long now to grasp onto that moment when his magic met the Magic around him. Carefully, he held it there, mingling together until it felt like the entire world — no the entire _universe_ — was within his reach.

Like this, he could feel the steady, solid flow of magic through the very stones of the castle around him. He could feel the low, fading pulse of magic within the floor that housed the basilisk. He could feel the frantic, fluttering thrum of magic far above that was the student body. He could feel the pulsating expanse of the Forbidden Forest and it’s occupants. The swirling power of the wards protecting the school and grounds. The lesser wards keeping Hogsmeade from muggle perception. The twisted gaggle of life that was the village’s residents. Beyond even that, he could feel the sheer life that swept the lands and waters around him. He thought maybe he could feel all life on the planet this way, though beyond the near distance it was an indecipherable blur.

Drawing his focus back in, he opened and eyes and looked upon his conjurations.

Now came the part where this got dangerous. Touching the magic was one thing. _Wielding_ it was altogether something else. It was the next step in learning this and though he thought it wasn’t even actually _necessary_ compared to the enormity of learning to touch and understand the Magic, it was certainly something he wanted to try.

He just had to be careful to not get carried away.

Slowly, he concentrated on the red cube. He focused carefully on the Magic he felt all around it. Then he cautiously lifted his right hand and drew, ever so gently, upon the Magic.

Despite his care, he felt a rush of Power suddenly pour right _through_ him. Like a bowl of water had just been dumped over a sieve with him being the sieve. His vision whited out and all his other senses followed.

* * *

*** ~ * ~ ***

* * *

With a cough, he opened his eyes and blinked away spots to focus on the ceiling of the Chamber of Secrets. The light stabbed at his eyes, his ears were ringing, his nose burned, his skin felt raw to the touch. Even his mouth tasted strange, like he’d tried to gargle ozone or something.

He coughed again as he pushed himself up. His lungs burned and his muscles screamed.

“Holy crap,” he croaked. Even his throat felt raw.

A glance around revealed all of his conjurations gone without a trace, cushion included, which wasn’t helping his aching body at all. With a wince, he drew his wand and cast a tempus, a first-year spell.

He hissed in discomfort as even his magic seemed pushed beyond endurance. The spell left a sharp tingling down his arm that nearly had him dropping his wand. The tingling then spread slowly through the rest of his body.

He did manage to read the time before losing the spell. Apparently he’d been unconscious several hours. It was nearly time for dinner.

With a groan, he dragged himself to his feet. After missing lunch, he really should show his face at dinner lest his friends raise an alarm.

He whimpered quietly at the sight of the long stairway up. After a moment’s thought, he decided he’d rather brave the tingles of another small spell than ten or so flights of stairs given the way his legs were feeling. He found his broom in his cloak. He used it sometimes when he was in a hurry to get up these stairs, which is why he’d taken to keeping it on him. He canceled the shrinking spell, gritting his teeth through the unpleasant tingling and resolved to go straight to bed after eating. Despite his impromptu nap, he was knackered.

Merlin, he really hadn’t been expecting anything like that, but maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. Even a tiny portion of that Magic was apparently more than his body knew how to handle. He’d spend another couple weeks working on meditation and figuring out how to draw less before he tried that again.

* * *

*** ~ * ~ ***

* * *

Bill bounced a bit on the balls of his feet, basking in the excitement heavy in the building as the Solstice ticked toward it’s apex. This was his sixth Holy Day since he’d joined The Cause and each one was headier than the last. There were a lot more people now than when he’d joined. The Dark Lord was recruiting heavily, he knew, and not just in Britain.

Everyone was robed and masked for their own safety. Bill, of course, had his hair tied back and fully hidden. Lucius Malfoy had worn his loose so he was impossible to miss despite their concealment, but Bill honestly thought he did that on purpose. He couldn’t be convicted based on exposed hair, after all, even if someone’s memory found it’s way to the DMLE.

The building itself was actually nothing more than one very large ritual room. It was actually very similar to the room in the Ministry housing the Veil of Death. Just quite a bit larger. Solid stone walls gave way to a domed ceiling. There were no windows. The floor was made up of concentric rings, each perhaps half a meter lower than the previous so that the large circle in the center was the lowest area. The center of the room held a thick stone arch large enough for two men to walk through abrest. The stone itself was, Bill was pretty sure, pure obsidian. It sparkled with runes carved into it and inlaid with diamond painstakingly fused into shape from diamond dust.

The air in the room positively thrummed with magic. Perhaps a hundred people milled about, their anticipation and excitement palpable.

Bill hadn’t truly questioned his decision to join since the first Holy Day he’d spent here. This was a purpose worth fighting for and his participation would earn a place for his entire family. If he could just convince them to go along. That would be the hard part, naturally.

“You ready for this?” a familiar voice greeted as one of the masked forms sidled up to him and nudged him with an elbow.

Bill turned to focus on the man and the mask bled away before his eyes to reveal the grinning face of Waylon Nott, a fellow cursebreaker not much older than Bill. The masks only did that if you were personally familiar with the person it concealed and if they were comfortable with you seeing them. It was an interesting piece of magic that he’d love to pick apart if he dared fiddle with it.

“Always,” Bill grinned in return. Waylon was the one who’d recruited Bill in the first place. It hadn’t been an easy sell but logic had won out in the end. “I never experienced anything like this before joining,” Bill admitted. “So many people… It’s incredible.”

“It is,” Waylon agreed. “And there will be even more people on Imbolc, then more come Ostara. We’re recruiting more every day.”

A sudden hush spread through the room and Bill turned to see the Inner Circle entering. Those who’d recently been freed from Azkaban, including Lucius Malfoy now, came without masks, hoods lowered proudly. There were still a number of them that wore the masks though. They parted the crowd to create a path down the steps from the entrance to the archway. Then Voldemort stepped into the room and paused to look over the gathering.

Bill joined everyone else in falling to his knees, Inner Circle included. The Dark Lord waited a moment more, a small smirk on his lips, before he stepped gracefully down into the room. His ritual robes flowed around him almost unnaturally as he moved down to the archway. Once there, he turned his back to it.

“Welcome, my friends,” he greeted smoothly. “We come together once more to honor our Great Mother Magick and to beg her favor as we strive to create the single greatest magical construct known to our kind. For those of you joining us for the first time, your part in this is simple. You need only kneel upon any one of the rune circles carved into the floor and do not resist when the ritual draws on your magic. Remain for as long as you are able, though when the draw becomes too much, you are free to leave. Do take care not to disrupt those remaining. There are floos available in the antechamber to take you home should you not wish to apparate.”

That said, the Dark Lord spread his arms to his sides, tipped his face up a bit, and inhaled deeply. The magic in the room almost seemed to ripple as Voldemort released his tight control on his magic and let it mingle a bit. A real, if small, smile broke across his face then as he intoned, “The hour is upon us. Let us commence.”

The Inner Circle smoothly moved to place themselves on the first ring around the center while everyone else shuffled about to find a rune circle on which to kneel. They were spaced across each ring of flooring at intervals just wide enough to comfortably fit an average size person on each one, though there were probably at least five times as many runes as there were people in the room, leaving them to spread out as they wished.

Bill settled onto the nearest one while Waylon chose one at his side.

It took only moments after the last person was settled before he began to feel the draw on his magic. The air seemed to thrum with the magic of so many people as the room drew it all steadily toward the center where Lord Voldemort took on the frankly impressive task of wielding so much magic to his purpose. That purpose being the direction of a bowl of diamond dust to settle and condense in the runes carved into the arch. It wasn’t just the physical creation of the diamond, of course. He was also imbuing each one with an incredible amount of magic.

It would take years to complete, he’d been told upon joining. The more recruits they gathered, the less time it would take, but hundreds of magi would be required for the final stage. Considering how many recruits had been gathered since Bill joined, he felt confident they’d have the numbers when the time came.

The magical draw continued steadily as the minutes flowed into an hour and then two. It was halfway through the second hour that the first person staggered to their feet and left the room as they felt the drain on their magical cores had become as much as they could manage.

Bill never felt bored or even overly uncomfortable as hours passed. The magical draw had it flowing steadily through is body, making him feel more alive and vital than any other time in his life save perhaps as he took down the most powerful and deadly of wards. He felt in something of a trance as his mind floated on the heady high of magic, his own as it flowed through him and the magic of so many others as it flowed around him.

Gradually, more and more people began to make their way out of the room, each one on unsteady legs. Eventually it was down to just the Inner circle and a dozen others scattered about, Bill included. Three more left, Waylon included, before finally the draw on their magic waned briefly before flickering out entirely.

Bill realized at the last moment that he was tilting to one side and managed to catch himself before falling. He didn’t feel weak. Just dazed and charged. Like his magic had been over stimulated until it felt like a naked nerve. It sort of tingled through his body in a way that wasn’t quite pleasant but neither quite painful.

Bill observed the others that remained moving carefully to sit more comfortably but no one got up immediately. Even Voldemort and the Inner Circle remained where they were. Bill was utterly powerless to stop the lazy grin that had fixed itself onto his face. He was a part of something really important here. He knew that. He could feel it. Most people on the “Light” side no longer recognized Mother Magick as a being. They considered it outdated superstition. Bill had been raised believing the same thing, but his work as a cursebreaker had made him question it. Dealing with extremely powerful wards, with magic of that caliber, it just _felt_ like there was something more there.

What they were doing here? This was for the Greater Good far more than any of Dumbledore’s schemes could ever be. Bill was proud to be a part of that. He only hoped he could make his family understand when the time came.

Eventually, Bill managed to drag himself to his feet and stagger his way to the floos. He floo’d straight back to his flat and didn’t even bother to take off his shoes before collapsing into bed. His mind was humming with a pleasant lethargy and his magic was beginning to take on a mild ache like a well-used muscle.

Sleep came quick and heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of magical theory in this one and some hints at what Voldemort is up to. Let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

The Burrow was decorated very enthusiastically for Christmas, Harry had to admit. Though most of the decorations were made of colorful paper and such, he had to appreciate the thought and the effort involved even if he wasn’t sure he’d call it attractive. Festive, certainly. The decorated gnome tied to the top of the tree really wasn’t helping anything.

Celestina Warbeck was rather awful. Harry wasn’t entirely certain how she could have a career as a singer, but he wasn’t much of an authority on music, he supposed. The Dursleys hadn’t been much for it. Their house was usually filled with the sound of the television, be it Petunia’s soaps, Vernon’s news, or Dudley’s action films. Granted, given the way most of the Weasley family seemed to be cringing at the sound coming from the wireless, he thought it was probably not only him.

Hoping to distract himself, he finally asked Mr. Weasley, who was nearest to him, about how his work was going.

“Of the three arrests we’ve made in the last month, I doubt a single one of them is an actual Death Eater. Only don’t repeat that, Harry!”

“So they’re just arresting innocent people and throwing them in Azkaban? Is Stan Shunpike still being held?” Harry asked incredulously, his stomach turning unpleasantly.

“I’m afraid so,” Mr. Weasley admitted. “I know Dumbledore’s tried appealing directly to Scrimgeour about Stan… I mean, anybody who has actually interviewed him agrees that he’s about as much a Death Eater as this satsuma,” he gestured with the citrus fruit in his hand, “but the top levels want to look as though they’re making some progress. ‘Three arrests’ sounds better than ‘three mistaken arrests and releases’. But again, this is all top secret.”

“Yeah, I imagine,” Harry said sourly. “Probably decide you were a Death Eater too if they found out you were telling people how corrupt they are.”

“The ministry is far from perfect,” Arthur admitted with a sad sigh.

“You can say that again,” Harry groused. It just went to show that Light and Dark don’t define good and evil. Scrimgeour was a renowned auror for how many dark wizards he took down and he was elected largely on his zero tolerance of the Dark. And here he is holding innocent people in that hell-hole of a prison, letting the whole country believe them to be evil Death Eaters just so he can seem competent when he’s really not.

Being Light _truly_ did not make one good-hearted.

With a sigh, Harry laid his head back and closed his eyes. He couldn’t think about this anymore or he was going to scream. Instead, he tried to let his magic mingle with the ambient magic in the room. He hadn’t tried again with actually channeling ambient magic, but he thought he’d try when he got back to school. He’d made a lot of progress since the time he’d knocked himself out with it.

He was getting good now at reaching the point he could connect his magic to the Magic of the world without needing to meditate and focus first. He left his eyes closed as he focused on what he could feel of the magic in the Burrow. The entire house flowed with magic, but that wasn’t surprising. He was sure the thing wouldn’t even be standing without magical assistance. It was a smooth, calm flow that held the house together. He realized as he focused on it that it was probably a large part of the reason that the Burrow had always felt like such an ideal home to him. The very magic of this place just screamed home and comfort. He wondered how much of that was a result of the magic that went into it and how much was influenced by the family’s magic just soaking into it over the years.

Looking beyond the magic in the very walls and floors, each person in the room had their own magic as well. Mrs. Weasley’s was a light and floaty thing, all wisps and twists. Mr. Weasley’s was actually very much like that of the house. Calm and content, a gentle thrumming flow that moved through his body. The twins’ magic was a fast, pulsing thing that beat distinctly and slightly differently within each of them, yet tendrils were constantly moving between them as well, their magic jumping from one to the other and back with total ease. It actually made a lot more sense of them in general, Harry thought.

Ginny’s magic was kind of a low rumbling thing. If Arthur’s magic was a contentedly napping house cat, then Ginny’s would be a lightly napping tiger. It was calm, but with a ready tension underneath, like it was alert and ready to leap into action at any given second. Ron’s magic was a liquid thing that made Harry think of syrup, dense but slow-moving. Curling lazily through him in a constant roll of motion that rarely differed.

Bill’s magic was rather heavy. A heavy, low pulse, like the beating heart of a massive beast. It not only pulsed within his body, but small bits drifted into the air around him constantly. It was different from anything Harry had ever seen before and it made him wonder if Bill felt ambient magic more than the others, likely without even realizing it.

Remus’ magic, though, was the most interesting. The most unique, he supposed. It made him think a bit of a yin yang with soft, airy magic pressed inexorably against hard, throbbing magic in a never-ending swirl. A balance precariously held as the two sides seemed in constant battle but neither able to gain any ground.

It was an incredible contrast to the man’s gentle, unassuming personality that Harry found utterly fascinating. He wondered if the gentle persona was something he’d learned to put on and not his true personality or if maybe it was his way of dealing with the constant conflict within him.

Harry’s magic was actually somewhat similar to Bill’s. He couldn’t observe his magic as well as everyone else’s as he was within it and couldn’t take it in wholly like he could with others. His magic also pulsed, but he seemed to be leaking a great deal of magic from his body directly into the Magic around him. This never lowered the amount of magic he had though because even as his magic washed out of his body to mingle in the surrounding magic, the surrounding magic rushed back in to fill the void. While everyone else had magic contained within their bodies, Harry’s magic seemed to fill the room, growing less dense the further from him it ranged as it dispersed into the ambient magic. It was, he suspected, how he was able to feel everything around him.

Eventually the caterwauling Mrs. Weasley called music came to an end. Harry wasn’t the only one breathing a quiet breath of relief as Mrs. Weasley went to fetch eggnog.

“So how have you been, Harry?” Lupin asked as everyone broke into conversation.

“Okay,” Harry shrugged.

“I noticed you haven’t spent much time with Ron since you’ve both been back,” Lupin pointed out curiously.

Harry sighed heavily, “Yeah. He’s mad at me, but he usually is this year, so I’m not overly fussed.”

“Can I ask why?” Lupin asked carefully.

“Because I don’t want to spend all my time goofing off with him anymore,” Harry admitted bitterly. “Because I’m focusing on my studies. Because Professor Slughorn has collected me and Hermione into his little group but won’t give Ron the time of day. Lots of reasons.” He wasn’t going to get into their differing opinions on the war because Harry didn’t need someone else telling him that everything would work out fine and he needed only to focus on being a child.

Lupin nodded understandingly. “Yes, you’re at that age, I guess. The Marauders went through some difficulty in our sixth year as well. Sirius still mostly cared about pranks and such. I wanted to focus more on my marks. And James, of course, didn’t care about anything but Lily Evans, even though she’d never had a kind word for him at that point,” he smiled nostalgically. “People don’t all grow up at the same speed, but hang in there, Harry. Ron will catch up sooner or later.”

Harry just shrugged because he wasn’t sure he even cared anymore with how angry Ron and Hermione had been making him all year. He knew he’d always care about them like family. He’d always be there if they really needed him. But he wasn’t sure he wanted them as best mates anymore.

Not that he was spoiled for choices in that regard. He was friendly with Neville, but the boy wasn’t that easy to hold a conversation with. Luna was nice too, but she was in a different house and a different year so he barely ever saw her. There was Ginny, but she was mostly busy snogging Dean these days as far as he could tell, though he didn’t think Ron had noticed that yet. Anyway, with all the time he spent studying Dark magic he didn’t have a lot of time to hang out with anyone. And he couldn’t tell them about what he did with most of his time anyway, so maybe it was better to just suffer the loneliness for now.

“What about you?” Harry redirected the conversation. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, I’ve been underground,” Lupin said with a deprecating smile. “Almost literally. That’s why I haven’t been able to write, Harry. Sending letters to you would have been something of a giveaway.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked suspiciously. He wasn’t sure he was in the mood to listen to another adult justify their utter disregard of him.

“I’ve been living among my fellows, my equals,” Lupin explained. “Werewolves,” he added in response to Harry’s frown. “Nearly all of them are on Voldemort’s side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and I was ready-made.” He sounded bitter and he seemed to notice it for he quickly put on a brighter smile. “I’m not complaining. It is necessary work and who can do it better than I? However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing — sometimes killing — to eat.”

“Don’t you suppose they choose to live that way because it’s legitimately better than living among wizards?” Harry couldn’t help but pose.

Lupin looked genuinely startled at the question, then smiled a little pityingly. “You haven’t seen the way they live, Harry. They’re honestly more like wolves than humans.”

“And Voldemort promises them more acceptance,” Harry reasoned. “That’s why they follow him.”

“He tricks them, Harry,” Lupin said sadly. “He’ll never follow through on it, but they’re desperate.”

“Yeah,” Harry couldn’t help his sardonic tone, “They’re desperate because the current administration treats them like dangerous beasts rather than sentient beings.”

“The ministry needs work,” Lupin admitted, “but it’s not all bad, Harry. They do put a lot of dangerous criminals in Azkaban.”

“Yeah, and then Voldemort just goes and lets them right back out,” Harry rolled his eyes.

Lupin sighed and looked disgruntled. “That’s why the Order’s work is so important, Harry.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry allowed, then forced a small smile before standing up. “I’m going to go see how Bill’s doing,” he excused himself as graciously as he could. He wasn’t so sure that the Order was the cure for every problem as most Order members seemed to think. They’d fought off Voldemort in the last war, after all, but they didn’t seem to care at all about the corruption and injustice in the world so long as no one was killing people in the streets.

Not that killing people in the streets wasn’t something to be stopped, but they acted like they were paragons of what was Right and Good when it seemed more like they were just vigilantes fighting against Voldemort. None of them seemed to put any real effort into changing the ministry or public opinion for the better. And Lupin may not have much chance to do anything like that, but Dumbledore sure as hell did.

He did make his way over to Bill, who was sipping an eggnog and staring out the window at the back garden. The eldest Weasley boy turned a smile on him when Harry moved to stand beside him.

“How have you been?” Harry asked first.

“Really good, actually,” Bill replied with a big, open smile that just accentuated how handsome he was. “Curse-breaking is more exciting at Egyptian tombs, but there’s a lot to do at Gringotts, too. I actually spend most of my time evaluating items for curses and removing them. For patrons of the bank, of course. It’s amazing how much work there is in that area. A lot of it’s more basic stuff, but there are some rare curses in the mix. Or situations where the spells went wrong and the magic is totally twisted into a dangerous mess.”

“Sounds fun,” Harry laughed sarcastically.

Bill chuckled in reply, “It is, actually. The curses used by the Egyptians are fascinating because they tend to be really unique, but any kind of curse-breaking is interesting. It’s all about pulling apart magic and understanding it, then finding ways to counter it.”

“That does sound interesting,” Harry conceded. He was coming to learn just how fascinating magic could be since he’d started studying Dark magic. He didn’t know if it was exclusive to Dark magic or if it was just that he’d been studying different kinds of magic. What they learned at school was so plain compared to the things he’d learned in his private study. It made him really think about the magic involved instead of just how to accomplish a single spell.

Bill seemed pleased by Harry’s agreement, but then he grimaced as he continued in a lower tone, “Dumbledore keeps pressing me to try to get the goblins on his side. Or at least keep them from joining the Dark.”

“You don’t think that will happen,” Harry realized.

Bill shook his head sharply and glanced around before explaining, “The goblins don’t care about our politics. Unless one side greatly benefits them and they’re pretty well assured of their victory, they are _not_ going to take sides. Dumbledore won’t take that for an answer though,” he sighed irritably. After a moment, he huffed and changed the subject, “Enough of that though. How have you been, Harry?”

Harry groaned a little at the question.

“That good,” Bill observed amusedly.

Harry gave him a mild glare and explained, “Ron and Hermione have been driving me crazy this year. Hermione can’t seem to decide if she likes that I’m giving more attention to my studies or resents that I’m doing better than her in class sometimes. Ron is mad at me because Slughorn is trying to curry favor with the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. Oh, and they both seem to be crushing on each other and refusing to admit it, though if they ever got together I think they’d probably just kill each other as they can’t agree on anything _ever_.” He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes in response to Bill’s palpable amusement. He sobered as he added, “And neither of them even begins to appreciate that Voldemort wants me dead. He’s always wanted me dead and he’s tried multiple times, but now he’s back and he’s gaining power… Neither of them are properly afraid, but I am. They want to worry about Quidditch and NEWTs and dating and all I can think is that I need to learn everything that I can as quickly as I can so I can maybe live another year.”

Harry pulled in a sharp breath, blinked away the moisture in his eyes and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so maudlin.”

“I understand,” Bill promised. “You’re under a lot of pressure. Did you tell Ron and Hermione about the prophecy?” he asked quietly.

Harry shook his head quickly, “No.”

“You don’t think it would help to have someone to talk to?” Bill wondered.

“I don’t think it would help to talk about it with them,” Harry corrected wryly, but he sobered quickly. “I don’t think either of them could really appreciate how it feels for me to be in this position. Hermione would just tell me to do whatever Dumbledore said and Ron would probably be jealous that I’m the ‘Chosen One’ instead of him.” Harry shook himself when he realized how bitter he sounded. Merlin why did he always end up getting so emotional whenever he talked to Bill. The man must think he was a basket case. “Sorry,” he couldn’t help but add.

Bill just smiled at him and nudged Harry’s upper arm with his elbow, “I don’t mind if you want to use me to vent. Doesn’t sound like you’ve got too many sympathetic ears around.”

Harry huffed a humorless laugh at the truth in that sentence.

Before they could speak more Mrs. Weasley was ushering everyone off to bed.

With a sigh, Harry made his way to the camp bed set up in Ron’s room for him. Things were tense between them as Ron wasn’t speaking to Harry at the moment and Harry was graciously returning the favor. They got ready for bed in silence and turned out the lights without a word.

* * *

*** ~ * ~ ***

* * *

Harry woke to the sun on his face Christmas morning and he slid on his glasses to find a few wrapped packages at the foot of his bed. There was a new Weasley sweater, this one bearing a golden snitch knitted into the front. He slipped that on immediately as it was rather chilly in the room and those sweaters were always really warm. The wool was a little itchy, but it fit comfortably and it always pleased him so much to know Mrs. Weasley thought of him. Included him in the traditional family sweaters even.

The other presents included a large supply of Weasley Wizard Wheezes merchandise from the twins and a small box from Kreacher that had him holding it nervously at arm’s reach as he slowly opened it.

Thankfully, it didn’t contain anything dangerous. Just a pair of quite attractive cufflinks that he thought were maybe platinum and diamond but he wasn’t an expert on these things. It could have been stainless steel and glass for all he knew. Written on a scrap of parchment under the cufflinks was a short note saying only, _Kreacher retrieved all stolen Black property_.

Harry smiled a little before frowning. He did not want to like the elf. He was on the fence about even tolerating him given the hand he’d had in Sirius’ death, but Sirius had been foul to him and Harry suspected he’d probably treated him that way his entire life.

Damn his empathy, he scowled. He didn’t want to relate to Kreacher, but it was hard. Well, he supposed it was probably a good thing if they learned to get along as they were kind of stuck with each other at this point.

A small smile returned as he examined the cufflinks again. He’d never had cufflinks before. Well, he’d never had a shirt that needed them before. Maybe he’d have to buy some now so he could wear the cufflinks.

He was glad to hear that Kreacher had gotten everything back. It still infuriated him when he thought about the Order’s theft. And he did consider it the Order, not just Mundungus. If they’d been appalled and up in arms to see every last piece returned to Harry, he might not have felt that way, but that really hadn’t been the case. Yeah, Sirius might not have cared about the stuff that had belonged to his family but Sirius had hated them. Those bits and pieces, whether Sirius hated them or not, were all that Harry had left of his godfather. Losing them was painful.

And even if the did want to get rid of them though, it was worth money and that money should have gone to him because those things belonged to him. Honestly, he wanted to see if anyone else in the Order would consent to giving that thief houseroom because he honestly doubted it. Anyone that did would certainly kick him out on catching him stealing from them.

Ron started to stir then and Harry quickly closed the cufflinks back in their box and stuffed them in his trunk. The very last thing he needed right now was for Ron to see him with expensive jewelry. There’d be no peace the rest of the hols.

Breakfast, Harry spent between trying not to stare too obviously at Bill and trying to ignore Mrs. Weasley’s very pointed attempts to interest Bill in Tonks, who’d apparently been invited but declined. Even though Harry had come to the conclusion last summer that he and Bill would never be a thing, he didn’t care for the idea of Bill with Tonks. Or anyone if he was honest.

Maybe there was a faint glimmer of hope somewhere in him after all if he had it in him to be jealous. He spent a few moments wondering if he would ever find someone for him, but he pushed those thoughts away quickly. Maybe if he survived Voldemort’s demise he could worry on that then. At the moment, he didn’t have the time or energy to even try to find a crush much less figure out how to date someone. Or come out to anyone.

Those thoughts left him glad for the distraction when Mrs. Weasley suddenly announced Percy’s arrival. With the Minister for Magic of all people.

Molly fumbled through inviting the Minister to join them only to be swiftly, if politely, rebuffed. “I don’t want to intrude. Wouldn’t be here at all if Percy hadn’t wanted to see you all so badly,” he proclaimed even though Percy had given no sign that he wanted to see any of them since he’d entered.

“We’ve only looked in for five minutes, so I’ll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy. No, no, I assure you I don’t want to butt in! Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden… Ah, that young man’s finished, why doesn’t he take a stroll with me?”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure if he should laugh or just leave the room without a word in response to that. How was this man actually a politician? Weren’t they supposed to be good liars? Charming speakers? And Harry got recognized randomly on the street, yet the Minister thought he’d buy that innocent act? He must _really_ think Harry was stupid.

Everyone else in the room seemed to be onto the Minister as well.

“Sure, why not?” Harry sighed into the silence. While declining was tempting, he was curious what the Minister wanted with him badly enough to bring him here with this half-baked excuse.

He assured Lupin and Mr. Weasley that it was fine when they looked like they’d half a mind to intercede. It did please him just a bit that they would be willing to even try. Lupin was a werewolf, after all, and the Minister probably wouldn’t hesitate a second to chuck him in Azkaban as a Death Eater if he made waves. And Mr. Weasley worked at the Ministry.

They walked a bit in silence before coming to a stop at the garden fence. Scrimgeour declared it “charming” even though it was all covered in snow and indistinguishable at the moment.

Harry just waited.

“I’ve wanted to meet you for a very long time,” he said after a few moments. “Did you know that?”

“Can’t say I did,” Harry admitted. Not that he’d really wondered about who might want to meet him in public office.

“Oh yes, for a very long time. But Dumbledore as been very protective of you,” Scrimgeour continued. “Natural, of course, natural, after what you’ve been through… Especially what happened at the Ministry…”

He left an opening for Harry to fill, but he just waited for the man to come to the point.

“I have been hoping for an occasion to talk to you ever since I gained office, but Dumbledore has — most understandably, as I say — prevented this.”

“Yes, you said,” Harry prompted. It was cold out here and he had no mind to listen to the Minister beat around the proverbial bush all day.

“Well, there’s all those rumors,” Scrimgeour stumbled on. “Of course, we both know how these stories get distorted… All these whispers of prophecy. Of you being the ‘Chosen One’.”

Ah… So that’s where this was going.

“…I assume that Dumbledore has discussed these matters with you?” the man asked hopefully.

Instead of answering, Harry posed his own question, “I’m not really sure what you’re driving at here, Minister. Is there a reason you’ve wanted to speak with me all this time?”

Scrimgeour seemed momentarily caught off guard before rallying, “Oh, well. I just meant that it doesn’t actually matter if you’re the ‘Chosen One’ or not, of course. Not to the Wizarding community at large. It’s all perception, isn’t it? It’s what people believe that’s important.”

Harry nearly burst out laughing at that statement because, yeah. That’s exactly how this arsehole was running his administration.

The Minister seemed to take his smile as a good sign as he quickly plowed on, “People believe you’re quite the hero — which, of course, you _are_ Harry, Chosen One or not. How many times have you faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named now? Well, anyway, the point is, you are a symbol of hope for many, Harry. The idea that there might be someone out there who might be able, who might even be _destined,_ to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named… Well, naturally it gives people a lift. And I can’t help but feel that, once you realize this, you might consider it… almost a duty to stand alongside the Ministry. To give everyone a boost.”

Harry’s amusement was well and truly gone by the time the man finished that little speech. He took a deep breath and worked to control his temper. Almost instinctively, he stretched out his magic, let it mingle with the Magic around him. Let his emotions drift away from him to be absorbed into the Magic, leaving him feeling much calmer. More in control.

He also noticed the Minister’s magic. It had a low, wary pulse to it, and a tension. It made him think of a predator crouched in wait to pounce. That impression did not warm his opinion of the Minister _at all_.

With his calm now intact, Harry decided the only thing to do was explain how he truly felt. If that didn’t get the man off his back, nothing would. “Minister, I find Magical Britain’s Ministry to be a cesspit of festering corruption full of people who care about themselves and their own careers to the exclusion of the jobs they’re supposed to do and the people they’re supposed to serve. Under Bagnold, the aurors used spells that the ministry itself had declared _unforgivable_ and worthy of a lifetime sentence to Azkaban. They also sent people to Azkaban without trials. Under Fudge, people were sentenced to _lose their souls_ without trial and the Ministry worked very hard to cover up Voldemort’s return, going so far as to torture children that spoke up against them. Now, under you, the Ministry throws innocent people into Azkaban just to make obvious incompetents seem to be accomplishing something. They care more about making people _feel_ safe than making them _be_ safe. What you do have in common with Fudge is that you’re both ignoring the actual problem. You’re playing politics instead of fighting the enemy. If you want me to ‘stand alongside the Ministry’, you’re going to have to earn it. Start by releasing the innocent people you’ve jailed with a public apology for the mistake. Then start actually moving to protect people from Voldemort and his followers, because the average British magical can’t even cast a reliable shield charm and they will die by the dozens when Voldemort decides to start killing again.”

He stopped talking somewhat abruptly upon realizing how much of a rant he’d actually got into. He hadn’t meant to say that much but once he got started listing everything wrong with the Ministry to the man who could actually _do something_ about it if he wanted, he just couldn’t quite stop.

Scrimgeour’s genial facade was well and truly gone now as he glowered at Harry. “You do not comprehend the first thing about running a country, you ignorant little boy!” he all but spat.

“I ‘comprehend’ that breaking your own laws isn’t the way to go about it!” Harry snapped back, grateful that his anger was still drifting through and out of him or he was sure he’d really lose it. The last thing he needed was to end up inflating the Minister or something. He really would end up in Azkaban. “The Minister’s office is _not_ above the law. Stop putting all your effort into _pretending_ like you know how to do your job and figure out how to actually _do it_!”

The Minister was quietly seething now as he shook his head in evident disgust. “So you’ll utterly refuse to help because everything may not be exactly to your standards, is that it? You really are Dumbledore’s man through and through, aren’t you, Potter?”

Harry had rolled his eyes before he could even think to stop himself. “I am actually capable of spotting bullshit all by myself, Minister. Try not to confuse me with everyone else who hates you.” With that, he turned his back on the man and returned to the house without a glance behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter in less than twenty-four hours? _Gasp!_
> 
> Oh, that last scene was _so much fun_ to write. In canon Harry was kind of like, "You just want to use me! I choose Dumbledore who obviously doesn't want to use me at all, he just loves me like a grandson!" I'm paraphrasing. 😉


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the winter hols passed similar to the start, though happily neither Scrimgeour nor Percy returned. Though Mrs. Weasley was saddened about Percy, Harry rather thought they were all better for it. Harry could honestly only imagine that Percy had avoided ending up in Slytherin the same way Harry had. Via begging the hat for anything else. That boy had enough ambition for any five Slytherins and no compunctions about utterly scorning his entire family to get ahead.

Harry’s only ambitions going into first year had been to fit in, to make friends, and to avoid the Dursleys as much as possible. He’d certainly never managed to fit in, his friends hadn’t turned out all that good of ones, and he _still_ wasn’t quit of the Dursleys despite fervent desires to the contrary.

After a quiet celebration of the new year, everyone slowly drifted toward bed. Unsteadily in some cases. Butterbeer had been supplied for the younger residents but the elders had indulged in firewhiskey. Fred and George, despite being seventeen, had been relegated to butterbeer. Not that that seemed to have stopped them finding a way to get tipsy, much to Mrs. Weasley’s ire.

Harry had been content to sip on his butterbeer. At Hogwarts they’d managed to sneak a bottle of firewhiskey into the dorm from time to time when they could scrape together enough galleons to bribe an older student to buy them one. Harry had gotten entirely pissed the first time, ended up spending the night getting to know a toilet, and never had more than a sip or two since. Frankly, it wasn’t just the sick and the hangover that had convinced him. He’d hated feeling so out of control. He hadn’t felt safe and he’d spent enough time feeling that way in his life without bringing it on himself.

He’d retreated to a corner of the sofa when everyone else started to get loud as they got tipsy. Ginny had gone to bed early and Ron still wasn’t speaking to him, instead spending the evening trying to get Fred and George to share the secret of their alcohol stash with him or pouting at their refusals. Harry had decided on a resolution of continuing his studies and doing his best to _avoid_ any situations likely to bring him anywhere near Voldemort again. He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to hold to it if the life of someone he cared about was threatened, but he really did mean to try.

His mind drifted lazily as he hummed under his breath to the rhythm of the Burrow’s magic. He’d been getting pretty good at leaving his magic to mingle with ambient magic in the background while he did other things. The next step was to learn to leave it open all the time, so he was trying to learn to do that but it was kind of distracting sometimes. Especially if he wasn’t focusing intently on something else.

He was pulled out of his drifting thoughts when someone suddenly sat down next to him. He blinked as he turned to find Bill smiling at him. He glanced around then and realized that they were alone in the room. “Everyone else gone to bed already?” he wondered.

“It’s one-thirty,” Bill informed him.

“Oh,” Harry frowned. He must have really lost track of time. He needed to work on that.

Bill smiled amusedly before admitting, “I was actually hoping we’d get a chance to talk privately before you went back to Hogwarts.”

“Why?” Harry blinked in surprise.

“I was wondering if you wanted to talk more about the prophecy. I mean, how you’ve been feeling about everything,” Bill explained compassionately.

“Oh,” Harry sighed. He wondered for a moment if he wanted to talk about it and realized that he kind of did. Bill was really easy to talk to and he’d never judged Harry for not thinking and feeling like everyone seemed to think he _should._ He just didn’t know where to start. “Yeah, sure,” he said instead, then fell silent.

Bill waited a moment, then offered, “You said on Christmas Eve that you’ve been trying to learn everything you can? So you can defend yourself or did you change your mind about fighting?”

“So I can defend myself,” Harry assured. “I still don’t want to fight. Dumbledore’s been giving me ‘lessons’ this year, but it’s nothing I can use to actually fight at all. He’s just been telling me stories about Voldemort’s history. Even before he was Voldemort, I mean. Like how his parents got together and how his mum died and when Voldemort was eleven years old just getting ready for Hogwarts… I mean, I get the whole ‘know thy enemy’ thing, but this is just ridiculous. All Dumbledore’s been doing is making me understand how Voldemort ended up twisted and evil enough to try to kill babies. I mean his mum was horribly abused by her family, then she used a love potion on his dad, basically raping him repeatedly for months and didn’t stop until after she was pregnant. Then her horrible family wouldn’t take her back because her baby was a halfblood so she spent her whole pregnancy barely able to eat, apparently not using magic because she was too grief-stricken or something. Then Tom grew up in an orphanage that treated him like a demon because of his magic and when Dumbledore came to give him his Hogwarts letter, he totally believed every horrible thing those people said about him so he was looking at him like a monster even when he just met him…” he shook his head in disbelief.

“I mean, if he wants me to sympathize with Voldemort he’s going about it the right way, but if he’s really trying to get me ready to kill him… I just don’t understand why he’s not teaching me anything useful. I’ve learned a ton of spells and such in the last year just studying on my own. How much better prepared could I be if Dumbledore had seen to it that I got extra lessons since I started Hogwarts? Or at least since Voldemort actually returned.” It was nice to talk to someone who didn’t flinch or pale every time Harry said the name. “I mean, Dumbledore has known about the prophecy since before I was born. How could he not try to prepare me if he really wants me to succeed? It’s almost like he _doesn_ _’t_ want me to actually win, but that doesn’t make any sense. He seems like he _really_ believes in this prophecy, so that makes me like his only hope, right? Why wouldn’t he teach me how to do it?” Harry knew he was rambling, but he didn’t think Bill would mind. It was kind of what the man had offered when he’d sat down, after all.

Bill was quiet for a moment before tentatively offering, “Are you sure that the prophecy he told you was the real one?”

Harry flinched at the suggestion even as his stomach turned at the possibility. “Well…” he floundered momentarily before inquiring, “He showed it to me in a pensieve. Is it even possible to fake memories in a pensieve?”

“It’s possible to do it well enough to fool all but trained observers,” Bill admitted sympathetically. “Usually it’s the minor details that end up a little blurred. A real memory in a pensieve is as perfect as if you were really standing there, filling in details even entirely out of sight of the subject of the memory. When they’re counterfeit, small details tend to end up blurry. Ones that don’t seem as important, like the line where the wall meets the floor or the pattern of some bricks might be off. Do you remember anything like that?”

Harry quickly shook his head. “No. He just showed me an image of the Seer floating above the pensieve.”

Bill’s brow rose in surprise. “Well… I’m not saying it’s necessarily fake, but it would be very easy to fake that, especially for someone of Dumbledore’s skill with occlumency.”

Harry swallowed hard against the implications. “But why would Dumbledore lie about it?” he demanded.

“I don’t want to think it’s the case, Harry, but…” He hesitated, then posed, “What if the real prophecy said the only way to defeat Voldemort was for you to die?”

Harry’s stomach dropped into his feet and he could feel the blood draining from his face because… Because Dumbledore was all about the “Greater Good”. If there was a prophecy that said Harry had to die in order to kill Voldemort… He’d make it happen. He really would. “What better way to make sure I go die like a good martyr than to make me think he believed I would miraculously survive it? There might not be any point to these lessons at all but to keep me compliant. Keep me thinking that he was helping me, even if I didn’t yet understand how.” He pressed a palm against his mouth and fought to keep the night’s butterbeer in his stomach. Merlin, this was all too easy to believe. It actually made more sense than any reasoning in which Dumbledore did actually want him to succeed.

“Hey,” he heard Bill say and glanced up to find the man looking very sympathetic. Then he reached out and pulled Harry into a comforting hug.

Harry clung to the strong, warm body, but he didn’t cry this time. He reminded himself that he didn’t know that this was the truth, but he didn’t know that it wasn’t either. And logically, it made the most sense. Did Dumbledore really want him to die?

“What… I don’t know what to do,” Harry admitted after several minutes of silence as Bill gave him comfort unlike anything anyone had offered him in a really long time. Or maybe ever. Sirius had tried, but he’d had a lot of his own problems and Harry had always seemed like kind of an afterthought for him. Or just a living memory of his best mate.

“Well, if — and that’s a big ‘if’ — we have guessed correctly in Dumbledore’s plans, you can’t let him know that you’ve guessed this. That you could even believe it of him. If Dumbledore is planning for you to die, then he means it to happen against Voldemort, I think. It would make the most sense given the prophecy he told you.”

Harry nodded. That made sense. He reluctantly leaned back, separating himself from Bill. He’d have liked to stay there forever, but he didn’t want Bill to think he was a child in need of coddling.

“I know it won’t be easy, but you’re going to need to try to relax when you’re around Dumbledore. Don’t think at all about these things or he will pick them up. I know for a fact he’s in the habit of gleaning surface thoughts from people’s minds sometimes. I would guess he probably does it even more often with you. Especially if he really is… I mean if he’s lying about this,” Bill explained gravely.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It trembled more than he’d like to admit.

“Have you ever heard of occlumency?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. Snape tried to teach me last year, but I was rubbish at it.”

“Snape?” Bill asked doubtfully. “The man definitely knows what he’s doing, but he’s never made a secret of how viscerally he hates you.”

“Yeah,” Harry huffed humorlessly. “He never really taught me how to do anything. He just pointed his wand at my face, said ‘clear your mind!’ then cast Legilimens on me.”

Bill’s eyes had widened as Harry explained that, “That is _not_ how you learn occlumency. That would have just weakened your mind. I mean, technically, you can build mental strength that way, but only if you combine it with a lot of dedicated meditation and you have enough time to recover your strength in between.”

“It did feel like I just got worse at it over time,” Harry admitted. “He never said anything to me about meditation and Hermione couldn’t find a single book on it in the Hogwarts library.”

“There were books on it in the library when I attended. That’s how I started learning in my sixth year when I found out it helped with curse-breaking.” He didn’t postulate a reason that those books would have been removed, but Harry could come up with plenty on his own.

Last year he’d have thought it all Snape’s doing if he’d known for sure that the man was doing the opposite of trying to teach him. Now he wondered if the man wasn’t doing it on Dumbledore’s orders after all.

“I can get you some books with proper instruction in occlumency,” Bill offered before Harry’s thoughts could spiral too far. “The first step is meditation, though, and it’s the hardest.”

“I’m actually pretty good at that now,” Harry admitted. “I learned that it helped with advanced magic, so I’ve been practicing all year.”

Bill breathed a relieved sigh, “That’s really good, actually. And you’re right, meditation and occlumency are absolutely required for a lot of advanced magic because it takes so much focus and concentration, often over a considerable amount of time. It’s almost impossible without a well-ordered mind.” He paused before continuing, “All right, so if you’ve got down meditation, then you’ve already got through the hardest part. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to manage shields good enough to keep out circumspect probes and I doubt Dumbledore would try anything more than that. The trick is to keep anything on the outside of your mind from finding out what’s really going on inside. In basic terms, the shields you build need to conceal your thoughts and emotions. This is usually done by building the shields of a lack of thought. That’s what Snape meant when he said you should ‘clear your mind’.

“The best time to work on it is right before bed. If you fall asleep focusing on it, at least part of your subconscious tends to keep working on it while you sleep. Or that’s the idea behind it. The more you practice, the more effective it becomes. Give it a try tonight and see how it works. Tomorrow, after everyone else goes to bed, come back down here and I’ll meet you. We can talk about how you’re doing and I can maybe give you some more suggestions,” Bill offered.

“Okay,” Harry breathed, calming down a little now that he had a plan. “Okay. Thanks, Bill.”

“Any time, Harry,” he promised.

Harry gave him a smile that felt embarrassingly shy, but he had to ask, “Why are you so willing to believe Dumbledore capable of this? I mean, I’m not saying it’s not scarily likely, but no one else in the Order seems to even believe Dumbledore is capable of being wrong despite him admitting to having been wrong about plenty of things. Even things that cost people their lives.”

Bill was thoughtful a moment before admitting, “I don’t see the world quite so black and white as most of the Order. I’m a curse-breaker. That means I have to understand magic on a deeper level than most people. All kinds of magic, be they Dark or Light. I even use Dark magic sometimes because it’s the only way to defeat certain curses. Dumbledore uses Dark magic sometimes, too. The blood wards he put around the house where you grew up are Dark magic, for example. The kind of magic you use doesn’t determine whether you are good or evil. People don’t only do bad things because of Dark magic.”

“Yeah, I’ve learned that, too,” Harry admitted, though he was surprised about the blood wards. Dumbledore seemed to preach that Dark magic was unequivocally evil, after all.

Bill gave him a small smile that seemed approving and Harry felt himself blush for some unfathomable reason.

“Er, why are you a part of the Order if you don’t really believe in it that much?” Harry asked, desperate to break whatever strange moment had fallen over them. This camaraderie he had with Bill was way too important for Harry to risk it by letting Bill know about his stupid crush.

“I joined the Order because I didn’t want to abandon my family like Percy did. I know they’re not perfect. Sometimes I feel like they’re incredibly naive. At least some of them,” he shrugged, “but they’re my family. I love them and I’m going to do what I can to protect them. If that means running errands for Dumbledore and pretending like there’s a chance in hell of swaying the goblins, so that I can stay close and help keep everyone safe, then that’s what I’ll do,” he solemnly swore.

Harry found himself more than a little moved by the sentiment in that reality. Despite his newly discovered self-preservation instincts, Harry could appreciate Bill’s loyalty to his family. Remembering what Bill had asked him on his birthday, Harry posed, “Don’t you want to see Voldemort destroyed for everyone he’s hurt?” He tried to keep his tone neutral to let Bill know he wasn’t judging him, though he doubted the man would think it of Harry given he knew how Harry felt about it.

“I think there’s a lot more important things in the world than giving our lives to bring down a man who isn’t actually terrorizing the country this time. I know there have been disappearances and what that probably means, but is it really any worse than the Ministry putting innocent people in Azkaban? Unless Voldemort proves that he means to start the kind of war he did last time, I think it’s ridiculous to fight for the preservation of the current regime,” Bill said simply.

Harry gave that some real thought. He had some personal grievances with Voldemort not only because of his parents but because of what he’d personally faced against the man, but he supposed there was some sense in what Bill was saying. “You think Voldemort might really be better this time? Why, though?”

“I’m not sure,” Bill shrugged, “but there has to be a reason he’s been back a year and a half and he’s still not spreading terror. The public has been aware of his return since June and still nothing?”

“Maybe he’s just quietly recruiting,” Harry suggested, “Building his power.”

“But if he was recruiting people to help him spread terror, then starting that spread of terror would only attract those sorts of people to him,” Bill reasoned. “There’s no reason to lay low at this point.” He gave Harry a moment to consider that, then added, “Unless he has plans that don’t involve spreading terror.”

Harry supposed that made sense. He didn’t think it meant Voldemort was necessarily not planning really bad things, but he did wonder if the Order wasn’t overreacting. Last year they’d put so much work into guarding the prophecy. Mr. Weasley nearly died for it, after all. And if the prophecy was real, then it didn’t even say anything that damaging. Voldemort was already focusing on trying to kill Harry because he heard the first part. What did it matter if he heard the end? If he heard the “mark as his equal” part, then it would just be more proof that Harry was the prophecy child and maybe he wouldn’t underestimate Harry so much in case the “equal” thing was literal. Which it really wasn’t so far as Harry could tell. And “either must die at the hand of the other”, who fucking cared? That didn’t change anything at all.

Dumbledore had people risking their lives to protect a few lines of a prophecy that revealed nothing vital.

Unless, of course, he’d lied about the contents of the prophecy. Merlin, he wished so much that he’d heard that damn thing before it broke.

“You should probably get to bed,” Bill’s quiet voice broke him from his thoughts. “It’s after two.”

“Right,” Harry sighed. He was going to need to do a little meditation to get to sleep tonight, he was sure.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Bill offered. “I’ll stop by around midnight, okay?”

Harry bid Bill a good night and headed for bed with a whole slew of new worries spinning in his mind. Maybe he’d see if he could start building some defensive walls in his mind while he was meditating. He was half convinced that it wasn’t possible after how Snape had repeatedly told him how worthless he was at it last year, but then the man hadn’t ever been teaching him. He’d not really had any chance to succeed. He had someone actually willing to teach him now, and he’d pretty much mastered meditation. He could definitely do it now.

* * *

*** ~ * ~ ***

* * *

The next four nights, Harry sneaked back downstairs after everyone else was asleep to meet with Bill and discuss occlumency. Bill was really impressed when Harry actually managed really serviceable defenses in less than a week. Privately, Harry suspected he wasn’t really doing it “right” per se, but he couldn’t exactly explain to Bill that he was using a highly Dark and illegal discipline to manage it.

Rather than building shields composed of a lack of thought, Harry had just kind of manipulated his magic as it left his body to conceal his mind entirely. He hadn’t been sure if it would work, but he’d been thinking of the disillusionment spell when he did it. How it made one blend into their surroundings to hide them. Harry’s magic was just mimicking the magic on the other side of him so he kind of disappeared into the gap. Bill assured him that he couldn’t find his mind at all, so it was obviously working.

The train back to Hogwarts was on the 5th and by the next morning, Dumbledore had sent him a note inviting him to his office that evening.

Harry did not feel ready to face the man after the suspicions he’d developed thanks to his conversation with Bill, but he knew he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. If the man really did intend for him to die, then the last thing Harry wanted was for him to start to wonder if Harry was onto him.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs to make extra sure that he was concealing himself as effectively as he possibly could, then reluctantly climbed onto the stairs and let them carry him up. Dumbledore was once again waiting for him with the pensieve, but he paused before beginning in order to comment on Harry having met the Minister over the break.

“Yes, sir,” Harry admitted grimly. “He thought maybe I’d realize it was my duty to help him trick the public into complacency so they wouldn’t think poorly of the Ministry’s utter incompetence.”

“Ah, yes. It was Fudge’s idea originally, you know. During his last days in office, when he was trying desperately to cling to his post, he sought a meeting with you, hoping that you would give him your support… I told Cornelius there was no chance of it, but the idea did not die when he left office. Within hours of Scrimgeour’s appointment he demanded that I arrange a meeting with you.”

“Well, I don’t think he’ll bother you about it again,” Harry assured.

“Excellent. That shall be one less thing to worry over,” Dumbledore declared cheerfully. “So,” he went on, moving back over to the pensieve, “we meet this evening to continue the tale of Tom Riddle, whom we left last lesson poised on the threshold of his years at Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore went on to tell him about how Tom was placed in Slytherin the moment the Soring Hat touched his head and how he soon after learned he was descendant of the founder. That Tom was very talented and very charming and quickly won over the staff and Slytherin House, though he clearly suspected he may have used less than pleasant means to accomplish the latter.

He admitted that Tom showed no sign of aggression or arrogance. That he was polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Yet despite all of this, Dumbledore continued to mistrust him, just as Voldemort had told Harry in the graveyard. He continued to judge the boy based on that first impression and the poisonous words of a bitter old woman.

Dumbledore spoke of how Tom gathered a group of dedicated friends though Dumbledore didn’t believe Tom ever felt any affection for them, though he didn’t seem to have a good reason for that belief but the hints he’d given in their first “lesson” that he didn’t think Tom capable of love due to how he was conceived.

He then went on to explain how difficult it was to find memories of people who knew Tom since most of them were terrified. Dumbledore apparently persevered however by tricking people into giving them up. He said that what he learned proved Tom had been obsessed with his parentage, which made Harry shift uneasily as he thought about the way he tended to perk up at any mention of his parents and hoard away the tidbits of knowledge like a dragon guarding treasure. He couldn’t imagine how much worse he might have been if he’d truly known nothing about them nor anyone who could tell him anything. If he’d not known their names or how they’d died or why he’d been left in that horrible place as a baby.

Dumbledore finally announced that their first memory would be of Tom when he was sixteen and going to meet his Gaunt relatives for the first time. Harry had an idea of how this would go considering what he’d learned about them before.

Harry watched as a teenage Voldemort encountered his uncle for the first time. The disgust he felt was palpable and Harry sympathized. The house was utterly filthy and Morfin looked and most likely smelt worse than Mundungus. His accent was worse than Hagrid’s and he seemed barely coherent. Getting so excited about discovering his wizarding roots only to find this at the end of his search… Yes, Harry would have been severely disappointed as well. Then Morfin mentioned that he looked like the muggle his sister had fancied and even a fool could have figured out what that meant.

The memory ended very abruptly and Dumbledore explained that Morfin could not remember any more than that, though he woke the next morning to the news that the Riddle family across town had been murdered in the night. Aurors arrived then and arrested him for the crime. Apparently he’d admitted to it and bragged about having done it, giving details he couldn’t have known if he wasn’t guilty.

Dumbledore then postulated, rather reasonably, that Tom went to the big house and killed all three of them using his uncle’s wand. Harry could almost imagine the boy his own age showing up at that house, looking so much like his father. They’d have known who he must be at once. A child conceived of rape, progeny of the vile Gaunt family. What must they have said to him? It couldn’t have been pleasant. Granted, that didn’t excuse their murder, but he could almost see how it happened. Harry even wondered if he’d taken Morfin’s wand before going over or if he’d come up with that plan after being chucked out by them.

To be an orphan who finds relatives alive on both sides of his family only to be hated by his mother’s relatives for being his father’s son and hated by his father for being the product of rape. Harry could not imagine how it must have felt.

Then Dumbledore admitted to having extracted that memory from Morfin only with “a great deal of skilled Legilimency” and “great difficulty”. It made Harry really nervous. He did, rather uncharitably, wonder if Morfin was actually in his last weeks of life before Dumbledore’s visit or only after whatever Dumbledore did to get the memory.

Finally, Dumbledore was ready to move on. He withdrew a crystal vial from an inside pocket, remarking that it was the most important memory he had collected.

Harry did note that the consistence of the memory was not quite as the others. It was sort of congealed.

“This will not take long,” Dumbledore promised, and he was right.

Harry found himself in a Slug Club meeting in which Tom looked around the same age as the last memory. So Voldemort was part of the Slug Club. Yet another reason to detest it.

Slughorn chatted briefly with Tom who was obviously charming him, which Slughorn clearly knew and approved of. Then the whole room seemed to fill with fog and Slughorn’s voice loudly rang out, _“You’ll go wrong boy, mark my words.”_

The fog disappeared very suddenly and Slughorn called an end to the meeting. As the others left, Tom stayed behind to ask a question about horcruxes.

Harry felt a shock of recognition slam through him at the word because he’d read about those. He thanked Magic that he was obscuring his mental and magical presence or he thought Dumbledore would have surely noticed that.

The fog quickly filled the room again and Slughorn’s voice once more shouted out, _“I don’t know anything about horcruxes and I wouldn’t tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don’t let me catch you mentioning them again!”_

And then Dumbledore pulled them out.

That was the most important memory. And the only things it proved was that Slughorn was a liar who more than likely told Tom more than he wanted Dumbledore to know, and that Tom was interested in horcruxes at sixteen.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out which one Dumbledore cared more about.

Horcruxes. Merlin. No wonder he hadn’t died when his body was destroyed.

“As you might have noticed, that memory has been tampered with,” Dumbledore’s voice drew Harry from his musings and he quickly shoved the thoughts away. It wouldn’t take a mind reader to discern that Harry knew something if it was written all over his face. Hopefully Dumbledore would take his thoughtfulness as wondering about the memory.

He gave Dumbledore a bit of a wry smile as he took his seat, “Yeah, a bit.”

“I believe Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections because he is ashamed of what he remembers. He tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those parts he did not wish me to see. It is, as you will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations.

“And so, for the first time, I am giving you homework, Harry. It will be your job to persuade Professor Slughorn to divulge the real memory, which will undoubtedly be our most crucial piece of information of all.”

Harry stared at the man in disbelief. “Me? How am I supposed to get it if you can’t?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Professor Slughorn is an extremely able wizard who will be expecting both legilimency and veritaserum. He is much more accomplished at Occlumency than poor Morfin Gaunt.”

Harry contained a wince at that statement.

“I would be astonished if he has not carried an antidote to veritaserum with him ever since I coerced him into giving me this travesty of a recollection. No, I think it would be foolish to attempt to wrest the truth from Professor Slughorn by force, and might do more harm than good; I do not wish for him to leave Hogwarts. However, he has his weaknesses like the rest of us, and I believe that you are the one person who might be able to penetrate his defenses. It is most important that we secure the true memory, Harry. How important, we will only know when we have seen the real thing.”

Harry sighed. He couldn’t see any possible way that he could manage this. He suspected that Dumbledore wanted him to emulate Tom and try to schmooze it out of the man, but he hardly thought that acting like Tom was likely to get him to part with a memory of a very bad result to him caving to those kinds of tactics. What was Dumbledore thinking?

“Now, then, there was one more thing I wanted to discuss before you leave for the night,” Dumbledore said briskly, clearly considering the matter closed. “Have you made any progress on shielding your mind?” he asked entirely innocently.

Harry did his best to conceal the fact that his stomach had just rolled with anxiety because this had to be confirmation that the man was at least browsing his surface thoughts since he’d clearly noticed that he no longer could. “I have, actually,” he tried to smile proudly. “It’s actually quite a bit easier without having my mind ripped open twice a week,” he added cheerfully because Dumbledore wouldn’t buy him suddenly being the perfect little follower at this point so why bother?

“Ah,” Dumbledore said sadly. “Yes, I think we are all in agreement that your lessons with Professor Snape did not work out well.”

_Yeah, like I knew from the very fucking beginning_ , Harry thought spitefully.

“I am curious what you’ve used as a focus for your defenses,” Dumbledore admitted. “I’ve never quite encountered the like.”

“A void,” Harry fibbed a little. It was kind of true and he thought more accurate to how Bill thought it should work. “I imagine an empty void concealing my mind. Like my invisibility cloak.”

Dumbledore looked very impressed though Harry was hesitant to believe it, “That is very impressive, Harry. You have done a marvelous job.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry managed, and if it was sulky, he didn’t think Dumbledore would find it out of character. He hadn’t really acted like he fully trusted or liked Dumbledore since Sirius’ death. He wasn’t about to change that now.

“Well, Harry, it is very late now. You’d best be off to bed. Do remember your homework,” he finished with a twinkle.

Harry left the headmaster’s office with relief. When he got back to his dorm, he brought the bag containing his books into bed with him and closed himself behind the curtains. His roommates were used to this behavior from him now and no one commented. Once the curtains were sealed and silenced, Harry accio’d from the bag the two books that he remembered having mentioned horcruxes.

He confirmed that the first one only gave a vague description of what they are and what they do. The second one, however, went into enough detail on the actual process of creating one that Harry highly suspected the author had first hand knowledge, or a source that did. It even vaguely mentioned the danger of using horcruxes. That there had been confirmed cases of instability and even insanity. He couldn’t help but wonder if teenage Tom Riddle had known that and believed he was powerful enough to avoid it or if the information he’d had didn’t mention it.

If Voldemort had created a horcrux, though, that would explain how he’d survived. It could explain why he’d seemed to think rampant killing was a good idea when he’d seemed at least mostly sane as a teen, capable of much more subterfuge, at least. And if he’d reabsorbed the horcrux in the process of coming back, that could explain why he’d been so much less violent.

Now he was thinking on it, he wondered if the diary had actually been a horcrux. It would explain a lot about how it had worked. Surely a memory couldn’t absorb a soul to become real. A piece of a soul, however… And Harry had destroyed it with the basilisk fang. But the point of horcruxes was to prevent the soul from leaving the living world while another part of it remained, so perhaps a destroyed horcrux didn’t leave, but just became untethered. Would it have found it’s way back to Voldemort’s main soul bit on it’s own? Voldemort had certainly still seemed plenty crazy at his rebirth. Maybe he’d done a ritual to summon back the loose it afterward? Harry had no clue if such a ritual existed, but there was still a great deal he didn’t know about magic.

Huh, maybe there was some actual basis to Bill’s belief, after all. Not that Harry was going to let his guard down, but it was something to think about. And maybe hope for. A sane Voldemort was still frightening. He was likely to be more successful at achieving his goals now, after all. If his goals were still to wipe out muggleborns, that could be really bad. Harry hoped that restored sanity had changed those goals, but he wasn’t about to count on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Harry and Bill, suspicions, and horcruxes... Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you feel inspired by this work, feel free to play with it. You can use the premise or spin off an AU or use my OCs, I don't mind. That's what fanfiction is all about after all. Just please don't reproduce my work word for word on this or any other site, doesn't matter if you credit it to me or not.
> 
> Also, if you're inspired to translate any of my works, I'm all for it. Just make sure you link it back to the original.


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